Family, Duty, Honour
by Queen of Ice and Winter
Summary: "Cat, you will wed Lord Jon Arryn; Lysa, you will marry Eddard Stark of Winterfell." For the sake of family, Catelyn Tully did not complain; for the sake of duty, she married a man old enough to be her father; and all for both House Arryn and House Tully's honour. How would the Seven Kingdoms fare with a different Tully as the Lady of the Eyrie and wife of the Hand of the King?
1. Catelyn I

A thrill of excitement and apprehension ran through Lady Catelyn Tully's heart as her wheelhouse approached the main gates of the Red Keep, the home of kings, queens and princes and princesses for centuries.

When Catelyn's wheelhouse slowly rolled into King's Landing, she was assaulted by a whiff of the city's stench, a smell that had not existed in her childhood home of Riverrun. Aware of the great stink lingering in the air, Catelyn pulled back the two plain, dark blue velvet curtains to glimpse the exterior of her new home – technically _one_ of her two new homes. She gasped a little as she caught sight of the huge castle.

Atop of Aegon's Hill, the Red keep was made of pale red stone. Massive curtain walls surrounded it; Catelyn craned her head and spotted seven massive drum towers, every one of them crowned with iron ramparts. Thick stone parapets, some around four feet high, protected the outer edge of the wall ramparts. It was said that the heads of traitors were traditionally placed on iron spikes between the crenels at the gatehouse. Catelyn shuddered. She hoped she would never see a traitor's head stuck on an iron spike when she resided there.

"Magnificent is it not?"

Catelyn closed one of the two curtains and smiled at her wheelhouse companion, her uncle Ser Brynden, more popularly known as 'the Blackfish'. Uncle Brynden would have ridden to King's Landing but he had elected to sit in the stuffy wheelhouse with Catelyn when he learnt her younger sister Lysa was to remain at Riverrun. "It'll be cruel to have you shut away in that infernal wheelhouse on your own," he had said when he waited to escort her to the wheelhouse on her last day at Riverrun. "If young Robert was not with you, you would be riding to King's Landing, eh Cat?"

"Very magnificent," Catelyn agreed. She had seen drawings of the Red Keep; she had never imagined the castle to be that immense. Closing the other curtain, she turned her attention to her infant son who was fast asleep in a comfortable basket beside her. _I am a married woman_ , she repeated to herself as she ran her slim fingers through her baby's tuft of strawberry blond hair. _I am a wife and mother_. Even now as she journeyed closer to one of her new homes, she could not believe she was married. The wedding was short and brief; two days to be precise. There were no feasting, tournaments or dancing. Vows were exchanged in Riverrun's sept followed by a quiet supper in the Great Hall and then the bedding. Her husband? A man old enough to be her father. As the wheelhouse jolted on the bumpy path, Catelyn's thoughts wandered to old Jon Arryn, the Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East…and her husband.

Was Lord Arryn a good man?

Catelyn did not know. He must be tender at least, or her father Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun wouldn't have consented to marry her to him, Catelyn assumed. House Tully's words were _Family, Duty, Honour_ after all.

Was Lord Arryn a gentle husband?

Again, Catelyn did not know. She'd hardly talked to Lord Arryn during their wedding supper and at night…words were exchanged even less. Lord Arryn was an old man, but it was said that marriages between older men and young maidens were happy. Catelyn hoped it was true. On their wedding night, they had consummated their marriage as was expected of them and nine months later, Catelyn endured the dreaded childbirth for the first time. Women whispered fearfully about childbirth; many have died birthing infants including Catelyn's own mother Lady Minisa Whent. Despite her initial worries, Catelyn successfully gave birth to a son: little Robert Arryn.

"I did not expect to come here," Catelyn murmured quietly. "I thought once the…war was over, I would leave for the Eyrie at once."

"That was the plan," Uncle Brynden affirmed with a nod, "but our new king had asked your husband to be his lord Hand. A great honour Cat. A very great honour. I suspect the king plans to ask Lord Eddard Stark to be his Master of Laws." He nodded a second time, approval written all over his weathered face. "There'll be no better Master of Laws than Lord Stark," he went on. "The Starks of Winterfell believe in the sense of strong justice – King's Landing will benefit significantly from it. Your father will be pleased eh? He'll be good-father to both the King's Hand and the Master of Laws, a position that'll be envied by many powerful lords."

"What of yourself, Uncle? I heard rumours that you will join the Kingsguard."

Uncle Brynden grimaced. "Words are wind, Cat. Words are wind. The Kingsguard is a prestigious order – very prestigious indeed. Besides, even if I want to be a knight of the Kingsguard, it will be the king who asks."

The new king.

"Lysa would have loved to see the pomp and glory of court," Catelyn commented with a faint smile as she recalled her sweet little sister Lysa – now Lady Stark of Winterfell – who remained behind at Riverrun via request from her husband Lord Stark. From what Uncle Brynden had told her, Lord Stark had headed south to Dorne to liberate his sister Lady Lyanna Stark and once the task was complete, will return immediately to Riverrun, collect Lysa and their infant son (Lysa gave birth to a bonny boy a few days after Catelyn gave birth to Robert) and travel to Winterfell in the cold, bitter north.

"A pity Lord Stark decided not to attend his best friend's crowning. Hoster may have protested Lysa's absence, but Lysa is no longer his daughter; she is Lord Eddard Stark's wife and the Lady of Winterfell. If Lord Stark desires for her to remain at Riverrun until he returns, so be it."

Catelyn nodded sadly. Silence descended in the wheelhouse and she took the chance to study her uncle. Uncle Brynden Tully was her favourite uncle – her _only_ uncle in fact – and was always ready to listen. He was tall and lean; when Catelyn was a little girl, she would run up to him and squeal delightfully when he picked her up as if she was one of her dolls and swing her in the air. When she was older, Uncle Brynden would be the first to hear her problems. He would listen patiently and offer sound advice in his hoarse and smoky voice. Even though Uncle Brynden was no longer the young man he once was, his hair was still auburn like Catelyn's, though a few strands had greyed, and had the bright blue eyes common in House Tully.

"Hoster is proud of you." A beam appeared on Uncle Brynden's weathered face. "He is pleased you have not uttered a word of complaint at your marriage."

What was there to complain of?

A lack of letters? Catelyn had been safe behind the sandstone walls of Riverrun while her husband was fighting in a war. Lord Arryn did send a few letters; more than she had expected at all. Most certainly they were not love letters – it was a war after all! – but at least one bore seeds of…affection?

"It is my duty," Catelyn said simply. Uncle Brynden expected an answer. "If I am lucky, I will learn to love my lord husband. If not, I will love little Robert for both our sakes." As if he was agreeing, Robert stirred. He opened a sleepy eye and blew a wet bubble at her. Uncle Brynden snickered and grinned fondly at her giggling son. He learnt forward and tickled him on the chin with a gnarled finger. "Jon will love him," he said confidently. "He will be a fool if he didn't. Lord Stark told me he always longed for an heir. When he sees little Robert, he will love the both of you."

"It is astonishing how fates change so quickly," Catelyn remarked. "If Lord Whent had not hosted that tourney, there would have been no war and I would have been married and at Winterfell. Now I am almost at the Red Keep and Lysa waiting to travel with Lord Stark to his home in the north. Odd is it not, how our destinies change?" Her small smile remained as she thought of Lysa again. _At least Lysa will be very happy in her marriage_ , she contemplated contently. All Lysa had ever wanted was the man of her dreams – kind, noble and handsome like a knight in the songs they once loved. Catelyn had not sung or even thought about a romantic song since her marriage.

With a final jolt, the wheelhouse slowed into a stop. Exhilaration brushed Catelyn in the heart as her uncle said gruffly, "We have arrived."

* * *

Catelyn felt like a child as she walked with Uncle Brynden to the Great Hall, gasping and gaping at the splendid sight around her. She crossed through a few small bridges, a number of inner yards and oh, the number of doors she saw! The Red Keep was a maze of rooms and corridors – how was one meant to find her way around?

"It seems young Robert is enjoying the view," her uncle chuckled. Catelyn laughed as she looked at her son in the arms. His bright blue eyes were as wide as platters. "Should I not put Robert in my chamber first?" she asked worriedly. "The last thing Lord Arryn will want is his son wailing in the Great Hall."

Uncle Brynden nodded thoughtfully. "Aye Cat. You go in to the Great Hall and I'll take care of Robert. Your father is waiting for you inside," he added as Catelyn did not move a step closer to the Great Hall. Taking a deep breath, Catelyn walked towards the doors of the Great Hall. "Lady Catelyn Tully," she told the waiting herald. _Should I have said Lady Catelyn Arryn?_ Worry wormed in her stomach as the two guards opened the black iron-and-oak banded doors and the herald announced, "Lady Catelyn of House Tully!"

Catelyn felt her cheeks warm as every lord and lady present in the Great Hall turned and stared at her. Closest to her were a number of brown-haired lords and ladies garbed in green with golden rose clasps or golden roses sewed on the women's skirts. _Tyrells_ , a voice whispered in Catelyn's head. Beside them were a cluster of Reach, western, River and Vale lords and ladies and closest to the dais which held the Iron Throne, the seat of spikes and jagged edges and twisted metal, were a faction of tall, golden-haired, smiling lords and ladies from head to toe in scarlet. Lannisters.

"Little Cat." Catelyn's discomfort vanished as her father waded through the crowd of lords towards her, a huge smile on his face. Ignoring the gawking of the courtiers, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun embraced her warmly. Catelyn hugged him tightly. It had been a few months since she last saw him. After her and Lysa's weddings, he had went off to war. Though he sent a flood of letters back, it was not the same as seeing him in person. They broke apart and Catelyn smiled weakly.

"You look well," Father murmured. "I was so pleased you survived the horrible ordeal of childbirth Cat…so pleased." He cleared his throat. "Ah, I think it's about time you meet our new king don't you agree?" As he escorted her on the long carpet towards the dais, she glanced at him discreetly. To her relief, he looked well. As tall as Uncle Brynden, he had the same blue eyes and brown-red hair. Catelyn had feared his health would worsen or deteriorate due to the war, but he seemed as healthy as he was before he went to war, perhaps even a little better.

Catelyn looked back at the man sitting on the most uncomfortable chair in the Seven Kingdoms and immediately remembered the handsome knights she and Lysa had once swooned over. The man stood up and descended the few steps, a huge grin on his ruddy face. "Lord Tully!" His voice boomed in the cavernous hall. "This must be Catelyn, one of your beloved daughters!" He approached Catelyn and her father. The first thing Catelyn noticed was his looming, great height. He was taller than Father – much taller – and his shoulders were broad and muscles. His face was clean shaven and he had blue eyes and thick, coal black hair.

King Robert Baratheon.

The last time Catelyn glimpsed him was at Riverrun when he was just plain Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, a former ward of Lord Arryn. Here he stood as Robert of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. It was him whom Catelyn named little Robert after. Instantly, Catelyn sunk into a curtsey and said softly, "Your Grace."

"Rise, my lady," said the king grandly. "You're indeed as beautiful as your father Lord Hoster claimed. Jon here is fortunate to have you as his wife." He turned and nodded at the old man standing to the left of the throne's dais. Unlike her father, Jon Arryn looked much older than he did when they had wed. His hair and beard were grey and a sky blue cloak pinned by a silver falcon brooch fell upon his broad shoulders.

"Jon is lucky to have you as his wife," the king said again. He sounded a little envious even. "Very lucky indeed eh Jon? You must be tired from your long journey Lady Arryn. You should go and rest. Jon! Escort your lady wife to your chamber. Lady Arryn is in no condition to stand here and listen."

"As Your Grace commands," Lord Arryn responded. He strode up to Catelyn as fast as a man ten years his junior would walk. He offered Catelyn his hand. "My lady?" Ignoring a loud snigger from the Lannister party, Catelyn took his hand and allowed him to lead her out of the Great Hall.

"You are well, my lord?" ventured Catelyn timidly.

"Quite," her husband responded, glancing quickly in her direction. "Your journey was um, pleasant I hope?"

"As pleasant as it could be my lord."

"Excellent." Silence peeked out from hiding. "I know you did not expect to come here my lady," Lord Arryn spoke again after the short interlude of silence, "being the Lady of the Eyrie and all." He risked another swift look at Catelyn. "My bannermen are keen on meeting their new Lady of the Eyrie too. However, the king, my former ward, had asked me to be his Hand. I used to view King Robert as mine own son, my lady, and he'll need my help ruling the Seven Kingdoms. I hope you understand the reason for our ah, stay at King's Landing my lady."

"Of course my lord." Catelyn hesitated. "If it…if it so pleases you my lord, you may call me Catelyn. We are husband and wife after all."

Lord Arryn halted and stared at her with…alarm in his eyes? _Did I frighten him?_ She bit her lip as her husband continued staring. "Very well," Lord Arryn said finally. "If that is the case, you must call me…Jon."

"Jon." His name sounded strange on her tongue. _Over time I'll grow comfortable with it,_ she assured herself. She could not call him Lord Arryn or 'my lord' forever. "Our son will be delighted to meet you at last," Catelyn said lightly. "He is in my uncle's rooms – it may be a good time to remove him to…to our own?"

Jon Arryn nodded in agreement. "It is kind of you to name him after the king. I really appreciate it…Catelyn. I truly do."

Catelyn blushed. "Thank you…Jon. I knew how much that you loved His Grace when he was a boy and thought it a kind gesture to name our son after him. Perhaps one day we will name another son after your father."

"Another…another son." Jon seemed lost for words. "Of course Catelyn. Of course. Is our son healthy? Well? Will he…" He took a deep breath. "Will our little Robert survive a cold winter's day in the Eyrie? It will not be as cold as the north, but winter in the Vale is much colder than winter in the Riverlands. My previous heirs who bore the name Arryn had all died thanks to the Mad King. I hope our son will not die of a chill."

"Our Robert is strong," said Catelyn firmly. "He is healthy in every way and will grow into a robust lad. No son of mine will die from a chill." She was surprised at the boldness of her words. Jon smiled at her. "Our children will never be weak," Catelyn went on. "It's a promise, lord husband. Our children will survive the iciest of winters."

Jon chuckled. "You defend our son's health like a mother falcon, Catelyn." He nodded approvingly. "Here, this is Ser Brynden's chambers." They stopped in front of a door that was identical to the oak-and-iron doors scattered throughout the Red Keep. The guard stationed at the door, Elwood, beamed as he saw Catelyn. "My lady," he said, dipping his head politely. "Ser Brynden is inside with um, a babe. Your child, my lady? A bonny boy my lady. The Seven have blessed you." He opened the door and Catelyn and Jon entered. Uncle Brynden's chamber was not particularly large; it felt spacious though. The basket that served as little Robert's cradle in the wheelhouse sat on a table that was opposite a bed and wardrobe. Uncle Brynden paced around, humming to himself as he cradled the baby in his arms.

"Ser Brynden," Jon spoke. "I thank you for caring for little Robert."

"Lord Arryn," Uncle Brynden acknowledged. "I did not expect you and my niece to be here so early. Had the king already announced that you will be his Hand?"

"His Grace had declared that before my lady wife appeared at court. He further stated his intentions to give the post of Master of Laws to Lord Stark and said that once Stannis returned with the last Targaryens, he will be Master of Ships." _Stannis Baratheon is King Robert's brother_ , Catelyn recalled. She did not remember much about him. Then again, it had been a while since she last met the second Baratheon brother.

"A wise choice," Uncle Brynden affirmed. He held out little Robert. "Here is your son, Lord Arryn. He has been waiting for you."

A smile danced on Catelyn's lips as she watched her husband reach out to hold their son for the first time. She could not help but wonder if her elderly husband ever held a child before. Jon's blue eyes glazed with happiness as he examined each of little Robert's plump, pink fingers. He ruffled little Robert's tuft of strawberry blond hair and laughed like a young man when little Robert gurgled and gave him a toothless grin. Jon glimpsed the small falcons sewn on little Robert's clothes and nodded approvingly. "He'll be a fine Lord of the Eyrie when he grows up," Jon decided. "Look at his rosy pink cheeks! I've not seen a bonny babe for years, Ser Brynden. Years! To think the babe in my arms is mine own son too! A miracle! When peace is achieved in the Seven Kingdoms, I'll take Catelyn and little Robert to the Eyrie where all my bannermen will see the heir of House Arryn." His eyes sparkled animatedly. "Mine own son."

"You are pleased?" said Catelyn timidly.

"Pleased?" Jon's eyes met hers. "My dear…I am grateful. Delighted. Elated." He turned to Uncle Brynden. "Ser Brynden-?"

Uncle Brynden nodded, a smile on his weathered face. "I will attend court tomorrow my lord, my lady. Perhaps I will see both of you there."

Catelyn bid farewell to him and left with her husband and little Robert. "I am grateful to you Catelyn," Jon said again once they began their walk to their own rooms. "I believe childbirth is dangerous and unpleasant for all ladies. I am ashamed to say that from the progeny of my father Lord Jasper, House Arryn had been cursed. Not only had I been um, quite unlucky in my two previous marriages, but so have my heirs." He paused. "I should not have frightened you my lady," he apologised. "Young mothers…easily frightened by the talk of curses and such. I apologise, my lady."

"I am not afraid of curses," said Catelyn tentatively.

"The Seven have blessed us." Jon opened a door for her. "This is our chamber Catelyn. Temporary. In a day or two, we will move into the Tower of the Hand when I begin my official duties as the king's Hand. I'll see to it that there'll be a cradle for our son and all that is required for an infant. Will there be anything you need Catelyn?"

"No. I brought what I needed from Riverrun."

"Of course, of course. Tomorrow morning, I will introduce you to the members of my household and the Vale lords present. Many of them will be heading home but it will be good for you to recognise them quickly."

"Of course, lord husband."

Jon looked suddenly embarrassed. "You have…you have studied the sigils of um, the Vale houses, Catelyn?"

"Of course." Catelyn's cheeks grew hot. "My father ensured that my siblings, his ward and I were properly educated as befitting the children of a nobleman. We were taught to recognise not only the sigils and words of noble houses in the Riverlands, but the sigils and words of nobles houses throughout Westeros." She didn't add that after she and Jon were married, she studied the noble houses of the Vale again. She had encouraged Lysa to revise the Northern houses, but Lysa petulantly refused.

"Vale lords haven not often married highborn maidens from the Riverlands," Jon said quietly. "Vale lords tended to wed Vale ladies."

"As did River lords." Her late mother was from House Whent of Harrenhal, once one of the most powerful vassals of House Tully. "Now the war is over, it is time for peace do you not agree, Jon? Peace and prosperity."

"Peace and prosperity," Jon echoed. "That is what we need."

"Let us hope little Robert never fights in battle." Catelyn shuddered at the thought of her dear son slashing down enemies on a battlefield soaked with blood and littered with the wounded and the dead. _No more war_ , she prayed silently as she listened to Jon talk about little Robert earning a knighthood one day. _Please, oh gods, no more war. Please give us a long summer of peace and prosperity for me and other young mothers to raise our children_. Despite carrying the Arryn name, wearing the Arryn colours and bearing the Arryn sigil of a sky-blue falcon soaring against a white moon, on a sky-blue field, she would never abandon the Tully words.

 _Family, Duty, Honour._

Though it would unfortunately conflict against _As High As Honour_ , the Arryn words, Catelyn had made a vow when little Robert was born: family would always be first.

* * *

 **I couldn't resist writing this chapter :D For the last few days, I planned and I really wanted to start the story haha. There will be definitely more changes than just Catelyn marrying Jon Arryn and Lysa marrying Ned Stark. I remember many of you readers' advice from The Dance of Spring and I plan to implement them: earlier conflict, stop cheating in conflict by marrying characters off, don't make too many new characters, don't have too many time jumps as it'll compromise in character development :)**


	2. Jon I

When innocent dawn emerged to announce a new day, the old Lord of the Eyrie rose from his bed, feeling in better spirits than usual. It was not his health that plagued him – he was unusually robust for a man his age, according to a maester – but rather the Eyrie succession. His brother was long dead as was _his_ son; his sister had died in childbirth at least twenty six years ago; and every Arryn heir he'd appointed died one after another within the time period of a year.

Now, it had all changed.

Sleeping peacefully on Jon's bed was his beautiful and fertile wife. After only a couple of hours of conversation yesterday, his fears of having a foolish and fearful maiden had dissipated. Lady Catelyn Tully was no foolish, fearful maiden. Slightly quiet, with a tint of hesitancy, which Jon had frankly expected. No young noblewoman would want to be married to a man twice her age. He felt a pang of regret. He wanted to be kind and gentle, he truly did, but how could a man turn back his age?

"Cat knows her duty," Lord Tully had assured him the day before he married his elder daughter. "She will not complain or weep."

"Your daughter does not deserve that fate," Jon had protested feebly. He had met the two Tully girls at Harrenhal a few weeks before. Both were exceedingly pretty; no doubt their heads were filled with songs, or so Jon assumed. "Lord Stark is a better match for Lady Catelyn," Jon had argued. The lady was betrothed to Ned's elder brother Brandon before he suffered a painful death in King's Landing – why not affiance her to Ned? She most likely knew him and even spoke to him a few times.

"Would you take my younger daughter Lysa to be your wife then?"

Again, Jon had attempted to renegotiate. "Wed her to a River lord," he had urged, "or a wealthy knight. Lady Lysa will find our marriage loveless; the Eyrie will be a prison to her, Lord Tully. Perhaps betroth Lady Lysa to Lord Stark then? By the end of the war, if Lady Lyanna is dead, Robert may marry Lady Catelyn." He was more than willing to wed the daughter of a River lord or mayhaps a Northern lord. Lord Hoster had contemplated the suggestion and was on the threshold of accepting…when Robert steadfastly refused. No one was able to change his mind, not even Ned.

His gaze softened as he looked at his sleeping son. He had never expected to be father once more. He had forgotten the thrill of delight at counting an infant's tiny fingers and toes; he had forgotten the joy of hearing a babe's giggling and gurgling; he had forgotten the excitement of imaging his child's future; and he had forgotten the bliss of watching the baby sleep. Ever since he fostered Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark as his wards in the Eyrie, he regarded them his own sons. Now they were men grown, the former a king and the latter a father. How time flies!

Jon gestured for one of his household servants to come closer. "My usual breakfast if you will," he whispered. "Bread, bacon, eggs and tea for my lady wife too." The servant nodded. He left and Jon quietly crossed the room to the table stacked with a pile of notes and letters that he had accumulated over the last few days. He picked up the first. It was a very brief note from Ned:

 _She is dead._

Jon heaved a sigh and clenched his fist. All for nothing…it was all for nothing. Oh why was Robert Baratheon so stubborn? If he had only listened or even considered-! If only Robert had listened, Catelyn Tully would be his betrothed, not Jon's wife.

The servant quietly returned with a large tray. Jon silently set aside Catelyn's cup and plates and looked forlornly at his own breakfast of scrambled eggs atop a slice of white bread with a few pieces of ham and a bowl of fresh fruit. He had lost about half his teeth; munching bacon and beef were no longer as easy as it once was. He was heartily tired of consuming soft food, but what could he do?

As Jon ate, his thoughts wandered to the past. By the time Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark arrived at the Vale to be his wards, he had given up siring children of his own. He named his nephew Elbert his heir and began devoting his energy into raising his wards to be the best of their potential. Robert had always been boisterous and loud; Ned Stark the opposite. _Elbert should have lived_ , he thought sadly. _If he had, he would have been a more fitting husband for Lord Tully's daughter_. Like Ned's brother Brandon, Elbert was executed on the orders of the Mad King.

The Mad King.

Jon darkened as his fingers curled into a fist. King Aerys Targaryen the Second of His Name…and the last Targaryen ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Like many of his Targaryen predecessors, King Aerys was the product of incest. His father, King Jaehaerys, once said that with the birth of a new Targaryen, the gods would toss a coin to decide whether the child would be a genius or a lunatic. _Clearly the gods found it fit to curse King Aerys with lunacy_ , Jon contemplated. Would the Targaryens still be in power if King Aerys II hadn't been embraced by madness? He shook those thoughts away. Robert Baratheon was the king now; the future could not be any brighter. I will guide him, Jon thought. I will guide and help Robert in every manner I can until my death. It is my duty to guide him on the right path of kingship.

"Jon…when did you wake up?"

Catelyn was at his side, with her dark blue cloak covering her white nightgown. She'd just woken up yet her lustrous locks of Tully red hair rested neatly over her shoulder in one long braid, a single curl escaping the silver clip that pinned her hair together. With a quiet yawn, she peered at the notes and letters on the table. "Forgive me." She blushed prettily as Jon raised an eyebrow. "I do not mean to pry my lord." There was no harm in Catelyn reading a few of the letters. Jon desired an intelligent wife he could discuss a bit of politics with during their suppers – Catelyn seemed the perfect candidate. Murmuring for her to sit down, Jon pushed a few plates of food towards her.

"Eat," he encouraged her. "Do you enjoy reading, Catelyn?"

"Of course," Catelyn responded, reaching for her cup of tea. "When my father and my uncle went off to war, I spent most of my time reading."

"Reading…songs eh?"

"I used to," she admitted with a sheepish smile. "When I was a little girl, I would read nothing but songs with my sister Lysa. I loved songs so much that for my seventh name day, my father commissioned a book for me – it consisted of all my favourite songs and had the most beautiful pictures to accompany them. I read the songs less the day I heard I was betrothed to Brandon Stark of Winterfell." She looked him boldly in the eye. "Since the day we married, I had never read another song."

"Reading songs are not too bad, Catelyn. At least you will know good songs to sing to our Robert when he cannot sleep."

Catelyn's smile brightened. "He slept well when we were in Riverrun."

"I hope he will sleep well here at King's Landing."

"I am certain he will, now that he is with his father."

"The king expects me in his first small council meeting shortly. I'm afraid I will not be able to introduce you to my household until supper. I do not wish for you to be bored in here, Catelyn. I have taken the liberty of inviting Lady Waynwood to come and keep you company for ah, a few hours or so. Houses Arryns and Waynwoods have a rather…close relationship and though Lady Waynwood is quite insistent on a little ceremony (you will find all Waynwoods like that), she is a kind woman who will help you know all the Vale lords and what will be expected of you as the Lady of the Eyrie. She is also a mother and grandmother," he added. "She will have sound advice for you."

Catelyn nodded calmly. "That is very kind of you. I am eager to meet Lady Waynwood – she is the Lady of Ironoaks is she not?"

"Indeed, Catelyn. You might like to befriend Lady Waynwood's good-daughter when you meet her. She is about your age I believe." He stood up. "I must go," he said, slightly apologetic. "I do not mean to cut our breakfast short."

"The king needs you, as do the Seven Kingdoms. You are fulfilling your duties as the King's Hand after all. Will I expect you for supper?"

"Yes. I hope. Do not fear if a few of my men come and remove ah, furniture or papers. They will be taking them to the Tower of the Hand, our new chambers." He hesitated for a second and quickly leant forward and kissed her on the cheek. Catelyn stared at him, stunned. Burning with embarrassment, Jon muttered farewell and hurried out. _Did I kiss her too early?_ Was Catelyn disgusted by a kiss from an old man? Pushing those thoughts aside, Jon hastened to the small council chamber. It was the second time he had set foot in the council chamber – its richly furnished surroundings did not fail to impress him at all. Myrish carpets covered the floor instead of rushes, and in a corner, a hundred or so fabulous beasts cavorted in bright paints on a carved screen from the Summer Isles. The walls were hung with tapestries from Norvos and Qohor and Lys, and a pair of Valyrian sphinxes flanked the door, eyes of polished garnet smouldering in black marble faces.

Hovering around the council table with his soft white hands clasped together was the Master of Whisperers, the eunuch Varys. "Lord Arryn," he acknowledged with an oddly enigmatic smile. "I was wondering if anyone would appear today." Compared to the bald eunuch, Jon felt like he was garbed in peasant attire. Varys had elected to wear robes of purple made from the finest silk and embellished with intricate stitches. For the Master of Whisperers, Varys seemed to enjoy comfortable and ostensibly rich clothing.

"No one else is here Lord Varys?"

Varys giggled and spread his hands. "Do you see anyone here with us, Lord Arryn? It is just you and me, Lord Arryn. Lord Stark is still rescuing his dear sister, Grand Maester Pycelle is shuffling here as we speak, the king may have decided to go hunting again, and many other positions in the small council have not been filled yet."

Jon sighed. Robert was king; he should curb his love of hunting for a while at least. "I will speak to the king," said Jon heavily. "I assure you, Lord Varys, His Grace will attend more small council meetings very soon." He glanced around. The Red Keep was a snake pit. Everyone had eyes and ears everywhere. "I do not believe Lord Stark will accept the king's offer to be Master of Laws," he said softly. "He will wish to go home to Winterfell more than serving the king." Had he told Varys the Spider too much? "I suppose it's time we find new Masters of Laws, Ships and the Coin."

"A Lannister Master of the Coin will be splendid." Varys tittered again. "With a lord of Lannister in charge of the royal treasury, the coffers will never deplete again."

"The coffers are still full," Jon reminded him. Though King Aerys was mad, when he'd died, he left the royal treasury flowing with gold.

"For how long, Lord Arryn?"

The door opened and a yawning Grand Maester Pycelle shuffled in, accompanied by the clinking of two dozen heavy chains wounded together from his neck to breast. The Grand Maester was old; two years older than Jon to be precise. While Jon still had plenty of hair – though grey – on his head, Grand Maester Pycelle's white hair was sparse and ran around his bald, spotted head. Instead of wearing the customary grey robes worn by most maesters, Pycelle had elected to wear a red velvet robe with an ermine collar and golden fastenings, much to Jon's disapproval.

"Lord Arryn," Pycelle mumbled, dipping his head in his direction. "Lord Varys…" With a shaking hand, he pulled out a chair and sat down. "Am…am I late?"

"Late?" Varys chuckled a third time. "There is only the three of us here Grand Maester. You are not early nor are you late."

Grand Maester Pycelle pulled out a clasp from one of his many pockets and pushed it towards Jon. "I almost forgot," he muttered more to himself than to Jon. "Your…badge of office, Lord Arryn. His Grace had it specially commissioned for you." Jon picked it up and examined it. For a brooch, it was a little heavy, no doubt to represent the weighty duties he would face as the King's Hand. Made of silver, the clasp was fashioned into the shape of a hand. Silently praying to the Crone for wisdom and guidance, Jon freed the silver falcon brooch that clutched the folds of his sky blue cloak and replaced it with the silver hand, his new badge of office.

"My lord Hand." Varys's tone was as soft as his silk robes. "What will be your first ah, command? Will you order a tourney to celebrate the king's success?"

"No," said Jon, appalled at the idea of hosting a tournament so soon from the war. "I'd prefer to have all the offices in the small council filled swiftly." It was a pity that Robert had decided to miss what appeared to be his first council meeting. "I hope the next time we meet, all the seats will be filled," Jon went on, "and I'll do my utmost best to persuade His Grace to join us. As it is only the three of us today, I propose we keep this gathering a short one and discuss the most important matters at hand."

"A wise idea," agreed the Grand Maester full-heartedly.

"Most wise," Varys echoed. "I suspect Dorne will not be particularly friendly towards our Baratheon king, lord Hand. They must be dealt with quickly. Prince Doran Martell is more thinker than fighter, but his younger brother Prince Oberyn…you might know him as the Red Viper."

"Have you caught wind of any Dornish plots regarding poisoning?" inquired Jon.

"Not of yet, lord Hand. Once my little birds hear of one, I will inform you at once." He smiled mysteriously. "As the Dornish have not moved, perhaps it will be best if we leave them be. No plots, no need to rush to Dorne…"

"Very well." Jon reminded himself to think more of the Dornish matter at a later time. Varys might be content to leave Dorne alone, but Jon was not. "Is there any word from Lord Stannis and the royal fleet?" The middle Baratheon brother had been sent with the newly built royal fleet to seize Dragonstone, the last Targaryen stronghold. Throughout Robert's rebellion, Stannis remained at Storm's End, the Baratheon seat, in a long siege against vast forces from the Reach led by Lords Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redwyne. It was a miracle that Stannis and his garrison held out against the Reachmen until Ned went to lift the siege. Admittedly, Jon hardly knew Stannis Baratheon, and understood Renly, the youngest Baratheon brother, even less.

"…there is a fierce storm brewing," Grand Maester Pycelle was saying. "The fiercest of storms in years, or so the maesters of Oldtown have told me. I doubt even the strongest ravens can survive such a storm."

" _Ours is the Fury_." The eunuch tittered. "It seems our king has sent all his wrath upon the island of Dragonstone."

"Is the king aware of the storm?" asked Jon.

"Not yet," Varys admitted.

"He must be told at once. If the storm is as brutal as Grand Maester Pycelle says, there is a chance that…that…" Varys nodded. "As you wish my lord," he said softly. Jon nodded gratefully. For a moment, the three of them said nothing and silence emerged. "I will go and find our king," Jon said finally, unable to deal with silence's presence any longer. "I'll discuss potential Masters of Laws, Ships and Coin with him. Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Varys, I thank you both for coming."

"Not at all, lord Hand." Varys gave him another enigmatic grin. "Shall I go and inform His Grace about the storm or will you, my lord?"

"I suppose I will, Lord Varys. Do you know where His Grace is?"

"I thought you wished to go and find our king, lord Hand? If you desire to save time, I am happy to tell you that the king is in his chambers, preparing to go for a morning hunt. He will be hunting with Ser Barristan the Bold today I believe."

"Ser Barristan Selmy? He has recovered already?"

"A fast healer, Ser Barristan is," the Grand Maester mumbled. Jon stood up. "We will reconvene at a later time," Jon decided. Once every seat is filled, he planned to arrange a time every day for a small council meeting – with the king present. When Robert was his ward, he never enjoyed learning a little about politics; it was about time he did. Not all kings could go around ruling with a warhammer.

Leaving the ancient Grand Maester and the eunuch behind, Jon headed quickly down to Maegor's Holdfast, a massive square fortress deep inside the heart of the Red Keep; it was snugly behind walls twelve feet thick and a dry moat lined with iron spikes. In his youth, his own father described it as a castle-within-a-castle. The four Baratheon guards present in front of the king's bedchamber nodded respectfully at him before one opened the door. A smile automatically appeared on Jon's face when he entered the king's room. Never had he expected Robert Baratheon to be king.

"Jon!" said Robert warmly. "Just in time for a hunt!"

"Oh no Your Grace," said Jon swiftly. "My hunting days are over. They have been for a while now. I heard you will be hunting with Ser Barristan today."

Robert chuckled and wagged a finger. "I could never hide anything from you Jon. You knew about the girl in the Vale, the nights I went to the tavern, even that one time when Ned tried to cover for me. Ah, poor Ned. He tried."

"You and Ned were my wards back then. It was my duty to know everything. The girl is safe and will have a good life, Your Grace. I have arranged for her to be raised in Lord Nestor Royce's household and I am assured she will have a position in his service when the time comes. If she wishes to settle down and have children, Nestor has promised me that he will find a good match for her, no doubt another Vale lord's natural son or if she is fortunate, perhaps a man-at-arms in Nestor's household. Your Grace, you do not need to be concerned with your…your natural daughter's future anymore." Robert nodded a little too vaguely for Jon's liking. "There is a storm brewing," Jon said more quietly. "The Grand Maester said it will be the most fiercest storm in years."

"When will it come?"

"No doubt in a day or two. I pray it will be a quick storm." He paused. "Robert…we've not yet received news from Lord Stannis."

Robert's hands shook as he put his hunting horn back on the weirwood table. "He is a fair sailor," he said hollowly. "If Stannis could survive that blasted siege, he will survive a bloody storm. Death took my parents by the sea; it will not take my brother too. Was I a fool for commanding Stannis to take Dragonstone?"

"Stannis is a good man, Robert. He will not disappoint you. I dislike bringing you bad news, but you must know." He handed Robert Ned's short note. Robert glanced at it and shook his head stubbornly.

"It is the truth," said Jon gently. "You must accept it Robert."

Robert grunted something to himself that sounded like, "Fucking Rhaegar Targaryen." Jon patted him on the shoulder. "Ned will not come back in a hurry," he informed him. "I hope you are aware of that Your Grace. He must fetch his wife and child and bury all the bones of his father, brother and sister at the Winterfell crypt."

"She was to be my queen," Robert said distantly. "Ned and I were to be brothers…"

"You and Ned have considered each other brothers for years – I do not see why that needs to change now that the Lady Lyanna Stark is dead."

"She was so beautiful…"

"We will speak later, Your Grace? I understand you need some time alone." Jon patted him on the shoulder again and departed. "His Grace does not wish to be disturbed for an hour or two," he told the Baratheon guards. "His Grace may decide to go and um, train in the training yard afterwards." Knowing Robert Baratheon, after a few hours of isolation, he would vent out his anger on a training dummy.

Walking slowly back to his temporary chambers, Jon wondered if Robert Baratheon was the right choice to be the king. He was the only great lord of the rebel forces to have a reasonably strong claim to the Iron Throne; he had a booming voice that was ideal on the battlefield; and he had a rather special gift in befriending his enemies. Robert was an excellent warrior and commander, but when it came to politics? Jon shuddered. Robert had almost crumbled the fragile Baratheon-Stark-Tully alliance at Riverrun. Baratheons and their stubborn tempers. Jon shook his head and sighed. _Why Robert? Why could you not agree to a mere betrothal to Catelyn Tully? Even if it was a temporary one?_ Now that Lyanna Stark was dead, no doubt it would be up to Jon to locate a suitable bride for his former ward. There were two hurdles he already visualised: finding a highborn maiden from one of the great houses and convincing Robert to wed her. Neither of those tasks sounded particularly simple to accomplish, especially now that Robert was in mourning of his dead betrothed.

It would not be an easy task at all.

As Jon turned a corner, he caught sight of a disappearing scarlet cloak. A Lannister. It was quite unsettling. _It was the Lannisters who sacked King's Landing in the name of King Robert Baratheon_ , Jon reminded himself. _It was the Lannisters who ordered the vicious rape and murder of the Mad King's good-daughter the Dornish princess Elia Martell and the brutal murder of her children_. Every time Jon saw a Lannister red cloak, the dreadful image of the bloodied bodies of the two Targaryen children wrapped in crimson cloaks would appear. The poor children. What horrified Jon more was Robert's satisfaction and relief over their deaths. "Dragonspawn," Robert had said, a faint smile materialising on his ruddy face. Jon had felt ill.

Shaking that terrible memory from his mind, Jon paused in front of his chamber door. He quietly pushed it ajar and smiled when he saw Catelyn chat enthusiastically to Lady Anya Waynwood, who seemed equally pleased to talk to her. With the heavy burden of advising and aiding King Robert, Jon needed a strong, thoughtful wife for support – Lady Catelyn sounded more and more ideal by the hour.

* * *

 **I'm glad you loved Chapter I :) After I started writing, I loved the ideas I thought up for this story so much that I continued writing and I have the next chapter ready too :D Littlefinger will definitely have a role to play (still thinking about that), yes Jon Snow will be in this story and there will definitely be at least one Lysa chapter. I can't say much about how many children there'll be yet, but each child that Catelyn and Lysa have will have hopefully important roles to play. I had never felt so excited in sharing this story with you! :D**


	3. Eddard I

It seemed everywhere Eddard Stark turned, he glimpsed death. From every battle he fought in during the rebellion to the Tower of Joy…so much blood and death. His heart thudded. He had expected bloodshed _outside_ the Tower of Joy, but inside? Ned assumed he would find his sister alive – terrified perhaps, but alive. Instead, he discovered her in a bed of blood, dying.

 _"Promise me, Ned."_

"Lord Stark? We are almost at Riverrun." Already? Last time Ned stopped for a short rest was in a tavern somewhere in the Reach. He glanced at the little crannogman at his side – he was the last of his six companions that went with him to that blasted tower; he was also one of the few who truly knew Lyanna. Howland Reed was a small man like all crannogmen, and the subject of laughter. _If it was not for Howland Reed, I would not be here today. I would not be riding to Riverrun to collect my wife and…son._

"Lady Stark will not be pleased," the little crannogman said nervously. "Lord Stark, ah, perhaps to save her any pain, perhaps it will be wise if-"

"No," Ned interrupted. "It is kind of you to offer, Lord Reed, and I am grateful, but the boy belongs at Winterfell. He is of my blood after all."

"Indeed Lord Stark, but you wish for both the boy and your lady wife to suffer under the pretence that the boy is your…?"

Ned nodded sadly. "It would be easier for us all if you care for the boy, but that is not right. One day I will tell him the truth, I will tell my wife the truth too, but not now. Lady Lysa will not need to know of it until we arrive at Winterfell."

"That will hurt her greatly my lord."

"Aye. Lady Lysa will understand one day." _I hope_. "I heard you have a child too, Lord Reed. A boy or girl?"

Howland Reed smiled. "A girl." He rummaged in his pouch and pulled out a leaf. "My wife Jyana sent this to me a day after she gave birth to our child. It is light green – a girl. If it is dark green, the child is a boy. An old crannogmen tradition." He added when Ned could not help but look puzzled. "You have a son my lord?"

"A son," Ned affirmed with a nod. "I have asked Lysa to name him Robb, in honour of my friend, our king." No doubt his lady wife planned to call their child Rickard after his father, but it was too painful. Perhaps one day in the future he would be ready to have a son named Rickard, but for now, young Robb was enough. The north had an heir and he had a son. Ned hardly knew Lysa Tully, but he was confident that baby Robb would help them build a strong relationship; a content marriage even.

"We have a new king my lord, a new future."

"We do indeed." They rode passed the last few trees on River Road and Riverrun had become clearer in sight. "I hope one day our children will meet."

The little crannogman shook his head with the faintest of smiles. "I highly doubt that they will my lord. I highly doubt that they will."

"Oh?" Ned spotted four men with fish-crest helms standing at the gates. "Why is that? I will be honoured to foster your daughter at Winterfell. What did you name your baby daughter Lord Reed?"

"Meera, Lord Stark. An old crannogmen name. I too am honoured you are willing to foster my daughter at Winterfell, but I'm afraid I must decline the offer. My daughter is a crannogman and must learn our ways. If I have no sons, Meera will succeed as the next Lady of Greywater Watch. She must be taught all our customs and traditions as much as your son must know the ways of the north."

"Lord Stark!" One of the fish-crest helmed men recognised Ned. "My lord, we did not expect you here so soon! I'm afraid Lord Tully is not here."

"That is alright," said Ned, dismounting from his horse. "My companion Lord Reed of Greywater Watch and I will not remain here for long. We will stay for a day and then we will ride home with Lady Lysa and our son."

"Of course my lord!" Riverrun's gates were opened immediately and the guards bade for Ned and the little crannogman to enter. They were escorted to the Great Hall where a red-haired lady sat waiting, a gurgling babe in her arms.

Lady Lysa Tully.

Well, it would be Lady Lysa _Stark_ now.

Gazing at her, Ned did not recognise her as the young woman he married at the sept. What was it about her…? _Most likely the glow of motherhood_ , Ned assumed. He forced a smile on his face as he saw his lady wife beam at him, her bright blue eyes sparkling like the small sapphires roped around her slim neck. Lysa Tully was quite pretty and looked as delicate as glass. Her long, thick locks of auburn hair fell down to her slender waist as she stood up to greet them.

"Lord husband." Lysa's beam widened. "You have finally come. Both Robb and I have been waiting for you." Before Ned could say a word, she shifted the baby from her arms to his. "My lady!" Ned protested. His son giggled; Ned looked down at him. For a second, he felt like he was holding Edmure Tully's son. Little Robb squirmed happily in his arms as he continued staring at him. He unquestionably favoured the Tully side with his tuft of auburn hair and blue eyes.

"The boy is handsome my lord, my lady," said Lord Reed, peering at Robb. Lady Lysa frowned slightly at him. "And who are you-?"

"This is my good friend Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch," Ned introduced at once. "Lord Reed, this is my wife, Lady Lysa Stark." Lysa blinked and continued to look at him blankly. "Lord Reed is a crannogman," said Ned uncomfortably.

Lysa tilted her head inquisitively. "A crannogman? How peculiar!"

"There is nothing peculiar about crannogmen my lady," said Lord Reed kindly. "I am as much a Northerner as your lord husband and very soon, yourself my lady."

"Crannogmen…I never heard of crannogmen before."

"Not many people have, my lady. We live in small villages formed of reeds and thatch that sit atop floating islands in the mire deep in the swamps of the Neck." He smiled as Lysa recoiled with horror. "You will not see us much, my lady. In fact, when you become settled in Winterfell, I doubt you will see me again."

"Crannogmen…" Lysa murmured, more to herself.

"Riverrun is beautiful," said Ned hastily, hoping to change Lysa's thoughts.

"Thank you my lord. I hear Winterfell is enchanting. I highly suspect both Winterfell and Riverrun will be shadowed by the beauty of the Red Keep. Where is your sister, my lord? Has she set off to King's Landing already? Will we be there for the wedding?" Ned swallowed and bit his lip, a habit common in his family in uncomfortable situations. His elder brother Brandon never bit his lip; he never found himself in a distressing position. His younger brother Benjen did, often due to disappointment when he would learn that _he_ would be the Stark left behind at Winterfell. His sister Lyanna…she was biting her lip when she left Harrenhal.

"What is it?" said Lysa worriedly. "Have I offended you my lord?"

"There will be no wedding," Ned muttered. Lysa's eyes widened. "Lyanna is dead," he said quietly. "We will not be going to King's Landing for some time, my lady."

"My condolences…"

"Can you take me to the godswood my lady? I wish to have a moment alone." Sensing Lysa's reluctance, he went on, "I will join you for supper, I promise. I yearn to hear more about our dear son." A bright smile returned to Lysa's face and she promptly led him out of the Great Hall, leaving the little crannogman on his own. She pointed to the closest of Riverrun's gardens. "The godswood is in there. Do you see the sept? The godswood is a short walk from there. Both the godswood and the sept are in the heart of our two huge gardens. Would you like to take Robb with you?"

Ned hesitated. "Yes," he said finally. "If you do not mind."

"He is your son as much as mine." Lysa kissed Robb on the forehead and handed him to Ned again. "I will be in my chambers." She turned to leave. "Wait," Ned called. "Go and talk to Lord Reed, will you?" Lysa frowned. "Lord Reed? My lord…"

"As a favour for me. Lord Reed is one of my bannermen Lysa. As Lady of Winterfell, it will be your duty to know all my bannermen as well as I know them." Doubt marked all over Lysa's face, she managed a very reluctant nod. As if approving, Robb blew a bubble at her. A smile crept on Ned's lips. Gently kissing Lysa's hand, he headed into the garden to Riverrun's godswood, carefully holding his infant son. Though Ned truly missed the godswood at Winterfell, he must admit Riverrun's godswood was quite cheery – a hint of joy was what he needed after almost a year of deaths and bloodshed. Bright and airy, the Riverrun godswood overflowed with redwoods, a variety of flowers, nesting birds and even clear blue streams.

Once Ned reached the heart tree – a slender carved weirwood – he fell to his knees. It had felt like a lifetime since he knelt in front of a heart tree. _Please guide me_ , Ned prayed. _You have made me the second son of Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell and Lady Lyarra of House Stark at birth but now you have decided for me to be the Lord of Winterfell via the deaths of my father and Brandon. Oh old gods, please guide me. Please protect and guide my wife and son_. Robb blew a wet bubble at him.

Ned remained on his knees and closed his eyes. He was tired of the south. He wanted to return to Winterfell and stay there for the rest of his life. Of course it was impossible, but a man could hope.

"Winterfell will be cold," Ned murmured to baby Robb. "Much colder than Riverrun. It will be strange for you; a cold summer and an even colder winter. You are a Stark – it is in your blood to survive the cold." Robb smiled happily at him. _Will he be like me?_ Ned wondered, _or will he be more like Lysa?_ He did not feel much closer to her – what kind of woman was Lady Lysa Tully Stark? Lysa still faintly seemed like a young girl, but she was only seventeen years old and had probably lived a rather sheltered life under Lord Hoster's protective gaze. After fighting in a number of battles and discussing strategies with Lord Tully, Ned learnt that the Lord of Riverrun wrote letters to his daughters and only son at about twice a few days and would've sent his brother the Blackfish to return home and protect them if the Blackfish himself had not objected.

"You will not be alone at Winterfell," Ned whispered, stroking Robb's head. "You will have a friend there, a brother if you like. His name is Jon. He is of the same age as you, if not a little older. I hope you two will be the best of brothers." Robb stared at him quietly with his wide blue eyes. "I loved my siblings," Ned continued, "and I consider the king a brother – you are named after him. I hope one day you'll be close to your siblings. When I was fostered at the Eyrie, it was one of the best times in my life. My only regret is not knowing my sister and elder brother better." A smile broke in his solemn expression as Robb blew another bubble, yawned and snuggled in his arms. In a few seconds, he had fallen fast asleep.

* * *

Ned's stay at Riverrun was longer than he expected. He thought that two days were sufficient – he soon discovered that Lysa had not yet packed her trunks and baggage for the journey north.

"Did you not receive my message Lysa?" Ned had asked, confused. His wife had given him that blank stare that Robb seemed to have inherited (though he was a child and a blank stare could be normal for babes his age). Lysa had not answered but had hurried away. That very evening, half her bags were prepared.

By the end of the third day, Ned found Lysa in the rookery, sending a letter, no doubt to Lady Arryn. "Are you ready to leave at dawn tomorrow?" he inquired. His wife shook her head. "I have so much to do," she murmured absently. "So much…"

"My lady…we must go to Winterfell soon. You are the Lady of Winterfell now."

"I do not have enough warm clothes, lord husband. I cannot go north without a trunk of suitable attire, lord husband."

"I will have warm clothes made for you at Winterfell dear wife."

"Would I not be cold on the way to Winterfell my lord?"

Ned gritted his teeth. Lady Lysa had _months_ to prepare for her trip to Winterfell. He wondered if all River ladies were this difficult. His own parents' marriage seemed to be perfect; both compromised when needed to. That ended when Ned's lady mother died of a fever during a particularly vicious winter. Perhaps he should've married a sensible northern girl instead of Lysa Tully. At least all highborn northern maidens had glimpsed Winterfell before; they wouldn't hesitate to leave home for Winterfell.

With a sigh, Ned had left Lysa to her own devices and went off to find his crannogman friend, who had been practically ignored at Riverrun. "How much longer will we remain here my lord?" Lord Reed asked patiently. "Riverrun is beautiful and cosy, but I'm afraid Greywater Watch calls for me."

"As Winterfell calls for me Lord Reed," said Ned with a sigh. "I thought my wife would be more…understanding. I thought you would've been ready to leave the moment both of us arrived at Riverrun. It is not right for us to stay here too long."

"Is Lady Stark ready yet my lord?"

Ned shook his head. "I believe she is stalling. It is understandable that one would not want to leave his or her childhood home, but it must be done. I will try and convince her to be ready quickly. Howland, you have no reason to stay here. Your wife and daughter are both waiting for you. Even if we did travel back together, we would go our separate ways eventually – near the Twins I believe. You will have no need to deal with the Freys to go home. In fact, your presence at the Twins will um…infuriate Lord Frey."

"That is indeed true, Lord Stark. The Freys and the crannogmen have never seen any matters eye to eye. If you insist I depart, I will leave at dawn."

"Send a raven to Benjen when you arrive at Greywater Watch, will you? When you're home, I might still be in the Riverlands or on my own way home. Once I too have set foot in the north, I will send you a raven."

Lord Reed nodded. "I wish you a speedy journey my lord."

"I want to be kind to my wife, I truly do, but how can I ask her to pack her belongings a little quicker? Riverrun is her home."

The little crannogman thought for a moment. "Lady Lysa is still young," he said at last. "She is a southroner and must have a keen interest in those songs the southron maidens love so much. She will be unused to the blunt truth of us northerners. This may sound odd, Lord Stark, but perhaps describe the beauty of Winterfell to Lady Lysa? In her mind, no doubt Winterfell is a plain castle in the cold, icy north that is much more austere than Riverrun. That may have influenced her decision not to pack in a hurry."

"You are wise, Lord Reed. I'm afraid I am not one for describing castles though. I will think more on the matter. You have been quite insistent that once we are home, there'll be little chance that we meet again. Why is that? There is always the harvest feasts. All northern lords go to Winterfell for it."

"Perhaps we will meet then," Lord Reed conceded. "This is still springtime. For all we know, autumn can be decades away."

"I will ask Lysa to give you food that will hopefully last the journey. Not all Rivermen are pleasant to crannogmen." Lord Reed shuddered in agreement. It was thanks to the two bullying squires of a Haigh and a Frey knight that brought the little crannogman to the Starks' company at the Harrenhal tourney.

"I suppose this is the last time we speak before we go our separate ways," said Lord Howland with the tiniest of smiles. "I will never forget the Lady Lyanna," he added more quietly. "If it was not for her…" His voice trailed off. If it was not for Lyanna, Lord Reed would never have met Brandon, Ned or Benjen. If Lord Reed hadn't met Ned, he would not have accompanied him to the Tower and Joy and saved his life. If Ned had died that day at the Tower of Joy, he would not be able to bring Lyanna's bones home.

"Lyanna may have been the reason for Robert's rebellion," murmured Ned, "but in a way, she also saved us."

Lord Reed nodded. "The North remembers, Lord Stark. The North remembers. If by chance Jyana gives me another daughter, I will name her Lyanna, after your sister."

"That is not a name common amongst the crannogmen."

"Indeed, but at times untraditional names are used to honour those you hold dear or respect. Perhaps one day you will meet a Lyanna Reed."

"Perhaps. I wish you well, Lord Reed."

"As I do to you, my lord." Lord Reed dipped his head and slipped out the Great Hall to collect the meagre possessions he had brought with him. Ned sighed to himself. When he was a plain second son, Lord Cerwyn offered him the hand of his younger sister. She was comely and reasonable – Ned wondered if he would've liked her as his wife better than Lady Lysa.

Muttering a quick prayer, Ned headed to his wife's chambers. When he had arrived at Riverrun, oddly enough, he was given a guest apartment instead of a chamber suited for husband _and_ wife. He rapped on Lysa's door. It creaked open and Ned stepped in. Sitting on her bed, Lysa beamed at him. "My lord."

"My lady." Ned nodded at her, glancing around discreetly. Her girlhood chamber was not big nor small. She had a sizeable bed with plump pillows and a dark blue quilt sewn with silver trout motifs. Near her pillows was a stuffed fish toy – a cherished childhood possession? – and on the side of the bed closest to Lysa was a little table constructed from weirwood. Opposite the bed was a large weirwood wardrobe, intricately whittled fish and swirls carved into it. Next to it was a huge window, pristinely clean with not a single speck of dust. Closer to Ned was another table, this one considerably bigger than the other one. Sitting on top of it were scattered pieces of parchment, a couple of books and an array of quills and inkpots. A chair was tucked under the table.

"How is Robb?"

"Sleeping now. I've returned him to his nurse." He pulled out the chair and sat down, facing Lysa. "My lady, I suspect you are afraid of leaving your home for a strange castle in a different region. You need not fear Winterfell my lady."

Lysa did not look at him. "That is simple for you to say, my lord. You were born and raised at Winterfell."

"True," Ned agreed. "However, in my boyhood, I was sent away to be fostered. During the first few days, I missed my home greatly. I can see you are frightened – you will find Winterfell your home eventually. It is a beautiful place, my lady." He racked his mind for more flowery words. "Outside Winterfell it will be cold; inside it is warm. Always warm. When it snows, Winterfell is like um, a winter palace. Snowflakes would adorn the walls and roofs like…diamonds and the glass walls of the glass garden will be blanketed with fog and mist, especially in the mornings. A splendid sight."

Lysa's eyes grew as wide as platters. " _Glass garden?_ "

"It is lovely," said Ned, smiling at her. "My sister…she loved the glass garden." Lyanna preferred riding and racing her brothers but she was fond of the glass garden. When she wanted an hour or two of peace, she'd either go riding or wander in the glass garden. "I will be honoured to give you a tour of the glass garden when we arrive," Ned went on. "I think you will like the glass garden."

"It sounds like an interesting and delightful place my lord."

"It is, my lady. It is. When I was a boy, my siblings and I had our own little sections to tend to in the glass garden. If you so wish, you can have your own too."

"I thought you were fostered with the king my lord?"

"I was. We were given portions in the glass garden before I left." To Ned's delight, his wife was fully interested in Winterfell now. For a moment he wondered how Howland Reed knew methods of entrancing southron ladies that worked. Northmen hardly went south; crannogmen even less. "Have you seen snow, my lady? When it is the heart of the winter season, snow would sometimes reach our knees. Very rare of course, but in the lighter months of winter, children love playing in snow. Would that not be a rather nice sight from the window? Our children playing in snow?"

"Yes…" breathed Lysa, her blue eyes glistening with fascination. "Our children in the snow…we have Robb…and we will have more…"

Ned smiled nervously. He was in no rush to father more children. He now had an heir and Benjen, who was old enough to marry and have children of his own. "You can visit Riverrun whenever you like," he said gently, reaching for her hand. "It is your home as much as Winterfell will be. You will be welcomed at Winterfell, Lysa. The northern lords are eager to meet you."

Lysa nodded and stood up. "I will be ready by tomorrow morning," she promised. "I have a few more things to pack."

"Good." Ned squeezed her hand and rose. "I will see you at supper. I want us to have a happy marriage my lady."

"I do too, my lord."

Ned smiled at her again. "I suppose we can begin by ceasing with all the 'my lord' and 'my lady' courtesies now can we?"

Lysa's dimples emerged as she smiled brightly. "As you wish…Eddard."

* * *

 **I planned to upload a chapter sometime during the last week, but a new semester of uni started again and it was pretty hectic and tiring. I'm actually looking forward to writing the chapter when Lysa meets Jon hehe. So who do you think Robert should marry? I know a lot of you commented that with Catelyn as Lady of the Eyrie, she'd go against a Lannister match or something, but I always thought that as a newly established king, Robert should marry a lady from a Great House. Sadly there aren't that many that are around his age and making OCs to play the part of his queen...I don't really like that idea. Any suggestions for Robert's future wife are welcome :)**


	4. Catelyn II

"My lady Arryn, Lady Waynwood is here."

Catelyn carefully put her unfinished needlework aside and nodded at the guard. "Tell Lady Waynwood to come in please." Yesterday Catelyn had enjoyed Lady Waynwood's company so much that she invited her to return in the afternoon the next day. The Lady of Ironoaks was more than pleased to oblige. The guard opened the door and nodded at Lady Waynwood respectfully as she walked in gracefully for a woman her age.

"Lady Arryn." Lady Anya Waynwood bobbed her head. "I am delighted you've asked me to come and keep you company once again." She was tall, elegant and had a distinct air of nobility. Her dark brown hair was twisted in a bun and was garbed in an exquisite dark green velvet dress embroidered with the black broken wheel of House Waynwood, the kirtle also of black velvet. Her long, black, draping sleeves were encased by longer wisps of dark green silk that trailed to the floor. Her beautiful gown was complete with a shiny black belt adorned with an emerald as large as an egg gilded in gold. Around her neck was a golden necklace that glittered with more tinier emeralds.

"Lady Waynwood." Catelyn gestured for her to sit beside her. "Have I kept you from your husband and sons?"

"Oh no my lady. My husband is busy trying to find us more good-daughters and our second son Donnel is enjoying the splendour of King's Landing." She smiled dryly.

"What of your eldest son?"

"Morton? He is preparing to return home to Ironoaks. His wife is a few months away from giving birth. A good woman, Morton's wife. A devoted mother too. She would have been here beside her husband if it was not for their little boy, Roland."

"Your Roland must meet my Robert one day. I suspect they will be good friends. The Arryns and the Waynwoods seem to be close to each other."

"Our Houses have been," Lady Waynwood affirmed. "Even before my uncle Ser Elys wedded Lord Arryn's sister, House Waynwood had always been loyal to House Arryn. Our loyalty to your House my lady, is unquestionable."

"I suspect my husband listens to you when it comes to the Vale?"

"Indeed my lady." Lady Waynwood smiled. "I do not know if you are aware of this my lady, but your husband has agreed for me to foster his great nephew – and my cousin – Harrold Hardyng. He is a boy of two, but both his mother (a Waynwood) and father have died, the former giving birth to him and the latter from his wounds he gained in Battle of the Bells. It might be in our best interest for your dear son to meet him too? Between us mothers, Lady Arryn, may I offer some sound advice?" Catelyn nodded, eager to hear more from an experienced mother. "It is best for children to associate themselves with others their age. Many others, not just one. Especially for an heir. If an heir and his sole companion become inseparable…we do not want favouritism."

Catelyn nodded fervently. "My Robert is only an infant," she said worriedly. "My lady, I do not think babes can have companions."

Lady Waynwood chuckled quietly. "Children will not be babes forever Lady Arryn. I heard you had a wonderful childhood at Riverrun?"

"Yes. Most of my fondest memories are from my childhood."

"Most of ours are, my lady Arryn." Lady Waynwood noticed the needlework. "What is that you are sewing, Lady Arryn?"

"I am embroidering, Lady Waynwood. My husband was appointed the King's Hand; I have not yet gifted him with a congratulatory present as I could not think of one that is good enough. I thought an embroidered handkerchief would be lovely."

"A lovely gesture, Lady Arryn. Quite lovely indeed." She paused slightly. "You haven't been at King's Landing long, have you? My sons were telling me last night that there was a fine shop at the top of the Street of Steel that sells swords, armour, helmets and all that. Many nobles have purchased their armour from that place. If you are still uncertain of a gift for your lord husband, why not venture there? I admit it's no place for a woman, but perhaps with your uncle or father, you may visit that shop. A handkerchief is a beautiful present for your lord husband, Lady Arryn, but why not a sword?"

"That is a good idea," Catelyn admitted. "This shop, who owns it?"

Lady Waynwood's forehead wrinkled as she thought. "A foreign man I believe Donnel told me. Oh where was he from? Braavos? Qohor? Somewhere in Essos."

"I will ask my uncle to accompany me there tomorrow."

"When you intend to visit the Vale, Lady Arryn, I insist you, Lord Arryn and your son come and visit Ironoaks."

"I will be honoured. We all will be."

Lady Waynwood looked pleased. "House Waynwood has been fostering highborn and knightly children for decades, Lady Arryn. In fact, my husband Ser Rogar was one of my father's wards." _The late Lord Waynwood must have approved of him the most_ , Catelyn thought as Lady Waynwood went on and named all her father's former wards. _If he had not, he wouldn't consider marrying you to him._ She grew uncomfortable at the thoughts of fosterage and wards. It reminded her too much of –

"What can you tell me of House Arryn?" Catelyn said suddenly. Lady Anya Waynwood broke off and stared at her. "Lady Arryn?"

"What can you tell me of my husband's House?" Catelyn repeated. "When I remained at Riverrun, I read a good deal of books about House Arryn. You are from the Vale, Lady Waynwood. What can you tell me about the Arryns that I do not know from a book in a library at Riverrun?"

"That is…rather unexpected Lady Arryn," said Lady Waynwood, recovering from the unusual inquiry swiftly. "Is it Arryn history you wish to hear about?"

Catelyn shook her head. "My husband's family. His siblings, his father, his mother…I did not want him to suffer the memories of their deaths so I thought it best to ask you as I am unfamiliar with my husband's household."

"There is not much to say, Lady Arryn, as I myself was a young girl when Lord Arryn's father Lord Jasper, was Lord of the Eyrie. He quelled a few mountain clan raids I guess, and he was a fair man. He dispensed justice when it was needed. He married a Redfort – one of Lord Horton Redfort's aunts or cousins I believe – who birthed the present Lord Arryn and his brother Ser Ronnel who became Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, and his sister the Lady Alys, who married my uncle Ser Elys Waynwood.

"As you know, both the Lady Alys and Ser Ronnel have been dead for some time. Lady Alys was taken by the Stranger first, my lady. Childbed fever, sadly something common in House Arryn. Lord Arryn's own mother died giving birth to Ser Ronnel. Lady Alys had given my uncle nine children: eight daughters and one son. Her son died at age three, he was kicked in the head by a horse; two daughters died from the pox as children; another survived but was scarred and became a septa; a fourth was seduced by a sellsword and had his bastard – the child died in infancy and she joined the Silent Sisters; the fifth was married to the Lord of the Paps, but she was barren; another was to wed a Bracken lord but she was abducted by the Burned Men; the eldest married your husband's last heir before you gave him little Robert, Ser Denys Arryn, but died shortly after he did; and the youngest married a Hardyng knight before dying after she gave birth to Harrold.

"As for Ser Ronnel, he wedded a lady from House Belmore but died roughly about the same time his son Elbert was born." Lady Waynwood hesitated. "Elbert knew your um, former betrothed, Brandon Stark. When Brandon Stark rode into the Red Keep with his party and demanded Rhaegar Targaryen's head, Elbert was with him. I heard that every young man that rode with the Stark heir was executed that very day with the exception of one. I'm afraid the members of House Arryn have not been lucky for some time, Lady Arryn." She bowed her head. "I should not have said that."

Catelyn remained silent. Jon's mother, sister and niece all died of childbed fever; her own mother Lady Minisa Whent died giving birth to her fourth son and sixth child. Was House Arryn cursed? Was she too fated to die in childbirth?

Lady Waynwood rose. "I should go," she said, more tightly than before. "I will remain at King's Landing for another few weeks Lady Arryn, before I must return to Ironoaks. I think the Red Keep is a splendid castle, but Ironoaks calls for me."

"Of course Lady Waynwood," Catelyn murmured, standing up. "Thank you so much for giving me guidance today." Lady Waynwood smiled at her. She dipped her head and headed out, leaving Catelyn alone in her chambers.

* * *

Supper was more lively than the last supper between husband and wife. Catelyn told him about her rather uneventful afternoon and Jon enlightened her on his first council meeting…which only Lord Varys and the ancient Grand Maester attended.

On the middle of the table, the candles flickered and greedily consumed more wax as Jon and Catelyn chatted and ate. _The food is so much richer here_ , Catelyn thought as the servants placed a plate of lemon cakes and blackberry cakes in front of her and Jon. She _loved_ lemon cakes since she was a child but could not manage a single bite after already eating trout baked in clay, a bowl of creamy chestnut soup with smoked duck breast and lentils followed by a colourful salad of spinach, sweetgrass, violets, plums and candied nuts, all swallowed down by a cup of sweet plum wine.

"I cannot eat anymore," Catelyn confessed. Jon smiled indulgently. "We will not dine on such fine, rich food every night," he assured her. "I too cannot manage another bite. I was full when the salad was served."

"As you serve the king," Catelyn began, "when Lord Stark returns with his sister and she marries the king, will I have the honour of serving our new queen?"

Jon looked uncomfortable. "There will be no new queen for at least another month or so," he revealed so softly that she almost missed hearing them. "Ned sent me a message – his sister is dead. The king has no betrothed. I am afraid it will be my responsibility to find our king a wife. Do not speak of this to anyone, Catelyn. So far only Ned and I – and now you – are aware of Lady Lyanna Stark's death. Once the entire court hears of Lady Lyanna's death…it will be utter chaos."

"All the lords will throw their sisters and daughters in front of the king."

Jon nodded unhappily. "Minor lords, noble lords, great lords…disaster. I'm afraid that there are hardly enough eligible noble ladies for the king."

Catelyn's eyebrows rose in astonishment. "You already examined potential queens?" Jon reached into his pocket and produced a folded piece of parchment. Without a word, he handed it to her. Catelyn carefully opened it and glanced at it.

 _Great Houses:_

 _House Lannister:_

 _Lady Cersei of House Lannister – only daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister._

 _Lady Cerenna of House Lannister – elder daughter of Ser Stafford Lannister._

 _Lady Lanna of House Lannister – only daughter of Ser Damion Lannister._

 _House Martell:_

 _Lady Malora of House Martell – cousin of Prince Doran Martell._

 _Lady Meria of House Martell – cousin of Prince Doran Martell._

 _Lady Melisa of House Martell – cousin of Prince Doran Martell._

 _House Tyrell:_

 _Lady Mina of House Tyrell – younger daughter of Lord Mace Tyrell._

 _Lady Victaria of House Tyrell – cousin of Lord Mace Tyrell._

 _Lady Olene of House Tyrell – cousin of Lord Mace Tyrell._

"I have only started compiling names today," explain Jon. "I am most eager to find the king a bride from a Great House – especially one who allied with the Targaryens during the war. Thankfully the king prefers to create friends from his enemies, and what better way than through marriage?"

"The Martells will never agree to a marriage," Catelyn said on impulse. She blushed at once. Had she spoken out of place? Jon chuckled a little. "Indeed," he admitted, "which is quite unfortunate. Of all the Great Houses, the Martells bear the most hate towards the king. Then again, I understand why the Martells will be reluctant to acquiesce to the an engagement between the king and one of their own. The last time a Martell princess was sent to King's Landing, she was viciously murdered along with her children. That leaves us the Lannisters and Tyrells. Perhaps it would've been better if Lyanna Stark lived and married our king. Trade between the north and south would've improved considerably, even mere relations would too."

"Both a Tyrell or a Lannister queen would offer benefits to King's Landing."

Jon's smile widened. "Benefits?"

 _He is testing me. He wants a clever wife, not a simpering one_. "By the end of the Mad King's reign, the Lannisters bore no love for the Targaryens," Catelyn said slowly. "And at the end of the war, Ser Jaime Lannister slew the Mad King, so I've heard. Apparently it was also Lord Tywin's men who killed Princess Elia and her children. They showed the king their loyalty. Apart from that, they are immensely wealthy and powerful. It is good to have a powerful and rich House as an ally.

"As for the Tyrells, they too are wealthy and powerful, less so than the Lannisters at this stage. However, their lands flourish in crops and stores that will be much desired in the upcoming winter."

"You would've made a fine queen," said Jon simply. Catelyn's eyes widened. "A Tyrell or a Lannister will wed the king," he continued. "The other, will marry into a House loyal to the king. Either our House, your father's House or House Stark."

"Why cannot the other marry one of the king's brothers?"

"We will have bloodshed, poisoning, manipulation and maybe even civil war on our hands. Both Lord Tywin Lannister and Lord Mace Tyrell are proud men. Neither of them will have one of their own married to a younger son – even the brother of the king. No, I will not have the Seven Kingdoms suffer through a civil war at Robert's death."

"What will it be, Jon? A Tyrell queen or a Lannister queen?"

Jon drummed his fingers against the table. "What do you think of your father having the position of Master of Laws?" he said, changing the subject.

"My father? Master of Laws!"

"The chance of Lord Stark filling that position is highly unlikely. I know Ned. When in mourning, he will wander to the most isolated place in the Eyrie and stay there all day, from dawn to dusk even. He will not come back to King's Landing."

Catelyn's mind whirled with an array of thoughts ranging from delight to shock. Her father as Master of Laws! When was the last time a Tully held office in the small council? Uncle Brynden said that Father was pleased at the prospect of being good-father to the King's Hand and the Master of Laws – what would he say to the possibility of _being_ the Master of Laws and good-father to the Hand of the King? Perhaps that would even bring some of the life he lost at Mother's death back into him.

"…Lord Varys suggested a Lannister to be Master of Coin," Jon was saying. "I cannot imagine Lord Lannister agreeing to it at all."

"Perhaps that position can be part of the marriage agreement?"

"You prefer a Lannister to be queen?"

"It is not in my place to decide which queen I prefer, lord husband." Honestly, Catelyn did not know whether she would favour a Tyrell or Lannister queen. At one point before the rebellion, their father was brokering a match with Lord Tywin between Lysa and his heir, Ser Jaime. It all ended when Ser Jaime was sworn in as a knight of the Kingsguard, to Father's – and for some odd reason, Lord Tywin's – irritation.

"It will be wiser to bind the Lannisters closer to us," Jon acknowledged. "Lord Tywin is in a much more powerful and negotiable position than Lord Mace. The Tyrells will try and reach for power, but at the moment, all they can do is climb. Grabbing power is still a little out of reach for them."

"What if they side with the Targaryens again?" Catelyn asked worriedly.

"If all goes to plan, there will be no Targaryens left. The Lannisters ensured Elia and both of her children's deaths; Stannis Baratheon will return shortly with the remaining Targaryens. Hopefully."

"What then?"

Jon did not meet her gaze. "With the king's approval and consent, Viserys Targaryen will be sent to the Wall under heavy guard where he will take the black. If there are any remaining female Targaryens left, they will join the Silent Sisters. If any infants…I do not know what will happen to them."

The icy fingers of fear scratched the back of Catelyn's neck. _Death_ , a voice in her head said flatly. The Stranger will take the infants, all because they bear the name Targaryen and the blood of dragon kings flow in their veins. Catelyn's hands shook. "You cannot…" she murmured. "You cannot allow them to die."

"The king will not rest easy until all the Targaryens are subdued and gone," Jon said to her patiently. "A Targaryen child can be used as a figurehead by those whose loyalty are still in doubt. The Tyrells…the Martells…only some who no doubt yearn to see King Robert Baratheon dead. The idea of children dying is…morbid and rather distasteful. Let us hope Lord Stannis returns with no Targaryen children."

"I thought perhaps if there is a child…we could take him or her as a ward."

Jon shook his head sadly. "You are kind-hearted, Catelyn. Clever too. Tell me why the king will never permit it."

"You are his Hand, Jon. The king trusts you…"

"Aye, he does, but for how long? How long until suspicion clouds his mind completely and he declares us traitors for harbouring a Targaryen? Highly unlikely, but distrust will always consume a ruler. When we married, I promised I will care for you until our dying days. I will not risk your life over this, Catelyn. What will your father say? One day when matters settle, we'll take wards. We can have highborn children fostered here or at the Eyrie. Whichever you prefer."

Catelyn bit her lip. "Will Robert be fostered?"

"That is a conversation for another day," decided Jon, pushing his untouched plates of cakes away as he stood up. "You must excuse me, Catelyn. I have matters to attend to. If you need me, I will be at the Tower of the Hand."

"You are not staying here tonight?"

"I thought you would like some time alone with Robert." Jon's eyes met Catelyn's. "He probably wants you for an hour or so. Don't fear, Catelyn. By tomorrow evening, we'll all be sleeping in the Hand's Tower."

"Very well Jon. I hope you sleep well."

"I hope you sleep well too." He dipped his head politely and went to grab his sky blue cloak and a pile of papers. Catelyn watched him move around as swift as a young man. _I should not care for the Targaryens_ , she mused. _They are the pretenders now. Having one under my roof will bring naught but trouble. Jon is right_. She was relieved her marriage to Jon was on the road to success. Jon was kind to her and she respected him. It had been a mere two days, but Catelyn wondered: _will I learn to love him?_

Catelyn brooded silently, playing with a delicious-looking lemon cake. Jon gave her a farewell smile and left, leaving her alone. It was still too early to retire to bed and little Robert was content sleeping in his cradle – what was she to do to pass the time by? She could not ask Lady Waynwood to keep her company again. Lady Anya had family of her own and her heir, Ser Morton Waynwood, was returning home tomorrow after all. She glanced at her basket of needlework on the little table. After such a rich supper, she had no desire to sew – very rare. She loved sewing and during her months of pregnancy, she alternated her time between sewing charming blankets and clothes for little Robert and reading in the library.

 _Where is the Red Keep's library?_ Catelyn wondered. She wished she had asked Jon or Lady Waynwood earlier. There was no point wandering around the Red Keep with no idea where the library was. With a sigh, she abandoned the lemon cakes and blackberry cakes for the sewing needle and pieces of cloth. She wished Lysa was with her. At times Lysa was a little silly and easily excitable, but she was still her sister and good company. She hoped Lysa would be happy at Winterfell once she arrives there.

The door creaked open and one of the guards peeped in. "Lady Arryn, there is a letter for you. Shall I bring it to you?"

Catelyn's heart leapt. A letter already! It couldn't be from her father; he was residing somewhere in the Red Keep. Was it from Lysa? "Yes please," she said with a beam. The guard handed her a folded parchment and left, closing the door behind him. _I must learn the guards' names_ , Catelyn thought to herself as she looked at the wax seal.

Her heart froze.

She recognised the wax seal immediately. It was such a familiar sight for her during her girlhood at Riverrun. The grey stone head with fiery eyes, on a light green field – how could she _not_ forget that particular sigil?

* * *

 **I actually wrote this chapter before I posted the previous one, so you could see that I was slightly edging towards the more canon Baratheon-Lannister marriage, but after reading all your suggestions, I really like the idea of Robert marrying a Reach lady - especially a Florent to keep the Tyrells in line or something. I would've thought to match Robert with a Tyrell, but they fought on opposite sides during the war and after the siege of Storm's End, I can't really see the prospect of Robert marrying a Tyrell. A Hightower or a Redwyne...I think those two Houses are pretty close to the Tyrells while the Florents aren't as close. Now...which Florent should Robert marry? :) Open to suggestions!**

 **By the way, Robert's marriage won't be for at least another ten chapters as I'm trying to focus more on building Catelyn and Jon's relationship as well as Ned and Lysa's.**


	5. Hoster

There was great bustling to the Great Hall that morning. Lord Stannis Baratheon, one of the king's brothers, had returned from Dragonstone – and with prisoners! Before the servants could place his breakfast of bread, cheese and fresh salmon onto the table, the Lord of Riverrun had already dressed and headed to the Great Hall, more eager to bear witness there than eat breakfast alone in his chambers.

When the herald announced him, he noticed Lord Jon Arryn and a pride of Lannisters were already there. Catelyn was nowhere in sight. Hoster approached his good-son. "My Lord Arryn," he said with a nod. "You are here early."

"You heard the news Lord Tully?"

"Lord Stannis has returned?" Lord Arryn confirmed it with a worried nod. "Where is my daughter? She should be at your side."

"The king…he rages against Targaryens," Lord Arryn said delicately. "His rage can be strong at times and may even resort to bloodshed. I do not want Lady Catelyn to see it. It may frighten her."

Hoster nodded. "Will you return to the Eyrie soon?"

"Not as soon as I would like to. There's much to do here to consolidate King Robert's place and keep peace. There is still the matter of Dorne to settle. Even with dragons, the Targaryens could not subdue Dorne. The king has no dragons. I fear Dorne will raise a rebellion eventually. It must be stopped."

A few brown-haired Tyrells slipped into the Great Hall. They lingered quietly near the back. _They will creep closer as time goes by_. That was what Tyrells did. Creep closer and closer to power like creeping roses. "What of the Reach? They too may not love our king. Perhaps the Reach and Dorne will finally end hostilities."

Lord Arryn shook his head. "The Reach can be pacified – especially with the oaf Lord Mace Tyrell as the Lord of Highgarden. He has young sons and an unmarried sister."

Hoster frowned and lowered his voice. "Do you intend to offer good marriages? Must I remind you, Lord Arryn, that victorious allies are rewarded with grand matches, lands and power, not traitors?"

"There is this saying, Lord Tully. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. It is clever is it not? I heard it the other day from Ser Lyn Corbray." Hoster stared at him in confusion. Was Jon Arryn growing senile? "I have no intention of rewarding Tyrells," Jon Arryn went on. "As I said before, Mace Tyrell is an oaf. Say we foster his children…he'll think it an honour." He smiled at Hoster who nodded thoughtfully. A clever plan to more or less ensure House Tyrell's obedience.

"Do you plan to foster all three Tyrell lads?"

Lord Arryn shuddered. "By the Seven no! One perhaps, but not all three!" He looked a little hesitant. "I may be asking too much, Lord Tully, but your heir Ser Edmure, needs a wife. Perhaps…?"

 _No_ , Hoster wanted to say at once. _I will not have my only son wedded to the sister of a traitor_. Was Mace Tyrell a traitor though? It was a war and the Targaryens thought the Baratheons, Arryns and Tullys were traitors too. Unease lurked in his stomach. Tullys usually married sons and daughters of their bannermen as Tyrells, Lannisters, Greyjoys and Martells did. Catelyn and Lysa's marriages were for wartime alliances – would his River lords be offended if Edmure was wedded to a daughter of a Great House? _Yes_. Ever since Catelyn was born, his River lords flocked to Riverrun. Brackens, Blackwoods, Darrys, Butterwells, Hawicks, Lychesters, Mallisters, Mootons, Pipers, Vances of Atranta and Wayfarer's Rest, Rygers and Freys only being a few – some carried marriage proposals from their fathers, elder brothers or uncles, lords offered their sons and daughters while others (notoriously, the Freys) declared themselves suitors for Catelyn and Lysa. Every time Minisa birthed him a child, Freys would arrive the very next day, always suggesting betrothals…even when Minisa died giving birth to that stillborn son. Hoster darkened.

"Lord Tully?"

"Forgive me," said Hoster quietly. "I was lost in my…thoughts."

"Quite understandable my lord." Lord Arryn looked at him expectedly.

"Who is this girl?" There was no harm making a simple inquiry.

"Lady Mina Tyrell, Lord Tully. She is Mace's youngest sister and is a maid of eighteen. Very pretty I hear, clever too. Her sister Janna had married Lord Mace's best friend and their cousin Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor."

"Lord Mace married a Reach lady yes?"

Lord Arryn nodded. "Lady Alerie of House Hightower."

A connection to the Tyrells of the Reach would be excellent for the Riverlands. With the North and the Vale as allies already…an alliance with the neighbouring Westerlands would be more than preferable, but the marriage agreements between Lannisters and Tullys often never fall through. Tywin Lannister, the Old Lion of Casterly Rock, refused to have his daughter Cersei wed to Edmure; Hoster would never recognise the Lannister imp as a prospective good-son when Catelyn and Lysa were unmarried. His daughters deserved a 'whole man', not a twisted dwarf who, if the Old Lion had his way, would not even inherit Casterly Rock.

Hmm…the Tyrells would have to do.

"Perhaps marriage will settle Edmure down," Hoster decided. "Yes, and a lady a year or two his elder will help greatly. Mina Tyrell eh? What if that fool brother of hers plans to wed her to the king?"

"I will not allow that to happen, Lord Tully. Besides, the Tyrells are in no position to ask the king to marry Lady Mina."

"Quite true," Hoster conceded.

"Shall I make inquiries on your behalf, Lord Tully? Mace Tyrell may be more inclined to agree to the match if the King's Hand suggests it."

Hoster nodded. "That is kind of you my lord."

"With the king and Lord Tyrell's consent, I plan to foster Lord Tyrell's heir, Willas. He is a boy of seven and many of my lord bannermen have sons around his age. I wonder if you will take in a ward too, Lord Tully? Riverrun is an excellent place to raise children I believe." He looked at him hopefully.

"No," said Hoster with more venom than he intended. "I will not take in another ward again. _Ever_." His fingers curled into fists and he shook with rage and strangely, sadness. He once had a ward, a small and clever boy whose weapons were his wit rather than a sword or bow. He would have gone far…if he had not disgraced himself so terribly. Once the only man able to anger Hoster to such an extent was his stubborn brother Brynden; now even the thought of his former ward infuriated him.

"My apologies Lord Tully."

More courtiers flooded into the Great Hall, excitement and apprehension written all over their faces. King Robert walked in, guffawing at a jape uttered by one of the lords of the Crownlands. It seemed he had already made new friends. Still laughing, he slapped the lord on the shoulder and climbed up the dais and sat down on the Iron Throne. The lords and ladies quietened and waited eagerly for announcements.

"Lord Stannis of House Baratheon!" the herald announced, reigniting the enthusiastic chatter. The great oak-and-bronze doors were pushed open once more and a number of men streamed in, a tall man in Baratheon colours at the front and Estermont men at the back. _The Estermonts and Baratheons are cousins_ , Hoster remembered. They must be at the back to guard the prisoners; they were not sent there as a slight. His sharp gaze had returned to the front of the line. Only a Baratheon could be a large man with tall stature, broad shoulders, dark blue eyes and a heavy brow. _Stannis Baratheon_. Hoster had never met the middle Baratheon brother. While King Robert's cheeks were ruddy and smiled often, Stannis's face had a tightness to it like cured leather, and he had hollowed cheeks and thin, pale lips, no doubt due to living on the brink of starvation during the siege of Storm's End. Even now in his grand moment of victory, Stannis Baratheon bore a rather grim expression with no ounce of joy or triumph.

It was difficult to believe he was younger than the king.

The courtiers' chatter rose when they spotted the boy in chains. Hoster too gasped a little. Walking with his head held high and his wrists in chains was a Targaryen. The _last_ Targaryen alive. The boy could not be older than seven; with a hard, gaunt face, he had looked a little older. His silver-blond hair fell fell limply over his lilac eyes that gleamed with fury. His small, petulant mouth was in a tight frown.

"Your Grace," Lord Stannis spoke quietly. "Dragonstone is yours and I bring the last remaining Targaryen men of the Dragonstone garrison as well as Viserys Targaryen, the younger son of the Mad King."

A broad smile appeared on the king's face. " _Dragonspawn_ ," he snarled. "The last of it, eh Stannis? Well done. Where is his bitch mother? I was looking forward to fucking her before I have her head cut off."

While some lords and ladies tittered softly, Stannis remained stoic and unsmiling. "I am afraid to say that she escaped," he informed the king calmly. "I was told that she was aided by Ser Willem Darry, four other Targaryen loyalists and a nurse. If we're lucky, the storm would have caught her. However, I have sent our cousins Ser Alyn and Ser Aemon Estermont with two galleys of the royal fleet to sail speedily to the Braavosian coast to capture the dowager queen if she happened to elude to storm."

To Hoster's surprise, the king did not rage or bellow angrily. He remained in his seat and said gruffly, "Very good, Brother. I received your raven earlier. An Estermont as castellan of Dragonstone eh?" He nodded approvingly. "Excellent choice."

"Usurper!" the boy screamed, pointing a thin finger at the king. "Usurper!"

One of the Vale knights drew his sword instantly. "He speaks treason," he declared at once. "Your Grace, allow me the honour of lopping off his head." Executing a child – even a horrible child – did not sit well with Hoster. He deplored killing in general, but killing men in a war was necessary. Killing children…he repressed a shudder. It was a barbaric act he hoped never to witness. The king seemed to be in deep thought. "Have him taken to the black cells," he ordered at last. "Perhaps a few nights there will whip this piece of dragonspawn into place."

"You will not have him executed, Your Grace?" spoke Lord Lannister, visibly displeased. "He is a pretender to your throne, Your Grace."

"Let him rot there for a night or two," King Robert growled. "Rhaegar Targaryen had killed my Lyanna! He let her die alone in some damned tower in bloody Dorne!" Hoster curled his fingers into a fist. If he had only agreed to the possibility of Lady Lyanna Stark dying! Catelyn would be queen in her place. The other lords and ladies began to murmur and whisper amongst themselves. _Lady Lyanna is dead…the king needs a wife. Why not my own daughter or sister?_ Hoster shook his head slightly. He caught sight of Lord Arryn closing his eyes with a sigh.

The king raised his voice. "The small council and I will discuss the boy's fate in a few hours' time! That will be all! Remove the dragonspawn into a black cell! Now!"

Viserys Targaryens was dragged out screeching and the king waited for the court to settle down. Hoster smiled slightly. The king was about to announce the members of his small council. With Ned Stark absent, there was high chance he would take his place as the new Master of Laws.

"For his utmost loyalty and aid in securing Dragonstone and capturing the last of the dragonspawn, I name my brother Stannis Baratheon the Lord of Storm's End," the king declared, "he'll also have a place in my small council as Master of Ships." Was it just part of Hoster's imagination that Stannis's pale, thin lips curved into a small smile? "Stannis will also be Lord Protector of Dragonstone until our brother Lord Renly is of age to take up the duties of the Lord of Dragonstone," King Robert continued. "I've also elected to forgive House Connington for their role in siding with the dragonspawn. Ser Ronald Connington will keep his lands on the condition nine tenths of them are given to up to the crown. Ser Ronald will further lose the lordship of Griffin's Roost but will be the first Knight of Griffin's Roost instead.

"Grand Maester Pycelle will remain in the small council as will Lord Varys who will maintain his position as the Master of Whisperers. Despite fighting on the side of House Targaryen, Ser Barristan Selmy will retain a place in my Kingsguard and will be the Lord Commander. For those of you who do not know, I have appointed Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie to be my Hand and as Lord Stark is in mourning, I have decided to choose Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, to be my Master of Laws." Hoster bowed his head in thanks. He had already planned to cleanse King's Landing of corruption. "For my Master of the Coin, I have elected to pick Ser Kevan Lannister for that position." Hoster hid a smile. The king was not japing when he said he would put a Lannister in that office. He noticed a small smile on Lord Baratheon's slightly grim expression. Was he pleased no Reach lord was appointed a place in the small council?

 _The Tyrells will be your in-laws if Jon Arryn succeeds in brokering the match between Edmure and Lady Mina,_ Hoster told himself silently. He wondered if his son would be at all taken with this Lady Mina Tyrell. _How will my bannermen feel?_ He suspected a great deal of unhappy words would be chorused at Riverrun by a dozen affronted lords, half of whom would no doubt be odious Freys.

Hoster's uneasy thoughts were interrupted when his brother Brynden appeared with a serious expression. _That is not a good sign_. "Brynden," said Hoster stiffly. "Do you wish for us to quarrel in front of the king's court?"

"It is not my intention to quarrel," Brynden retorted.

"What is it then?"

"The king wants me in his Kingsguard."

Hoster's blue eyes brightened considerably. House Tully was rising higher than ever now. What a piece of good luck it was to side with the Baratheons, Arryns and Starks in the war. "You deserve that honour," he pointed out. "You're a worthy knight – one of the finest throughout the Seven Kingdoms. I'd be astounded if you _weren't_ offered a position in the Kingsguard. Have you accepted yet?"

"No," said Brynden quietly. "I refused the honour."

The memories of their loud squabbles reappeared in his mind. After hours of arguing, either him or Brynden would storm out in a fit of rage, cursing under his breath. They'd tried to resist quarrelling in front of the children – the one matter they had both agreed on was the importance of raising the children in a happy environment. "You are japing," Hoster insisted. "You must be japing."

Brynden shook his head. By the Seven! He was still as stubborn as a mule as he was a few months ago. "He smiled when the murdered Targaryen children were presented to him," he murmured softly. "He is a good warrior, aye, but a king? We do not know what sort of king he is. The Mad King…he had the finest Kingsguard – Ser Barristan the Bold, Ser Jaime Lannister, Prince Lewyn Martell, Ser Oswell Whent, the Sword of the Morning, Ser Jonothor Darry, the White Bull…the greatest set of knights in the realm. How many of them are alive today, Hoster? Ser Barristan and that Lannister who deserves a black cloak of the Night's Watch rather than the white of the Kingsguard. The finest knights all died in a war the king they sworn to protect, began.

"Our present king…he may be better than the Mad King, but what if there happens to be another rebellion in the future? What if it is our House and those of Catelyn and Lysa launch a war against the Baratheons? I will be forced to fight against you, Lords Arryn and Stark, their families and perhaps even Edmure. I will be a kinslayer on the orders of the king." Brynden sounded bitter. "That I can never accept."

Anger rose up in Hoster. "It is an _honour_ to be a knight of the Kingsguard, Brynden. A prestigious honour! You refuse to marry and now you reject the honour the king heaped upon you! He _handpicked_ you to be part of his Kingsguard, Brynden. _Handpicked_. First Bethany Redwyne and now this! Why, Brynden? Why?"

To avoid another scene, Hoster gestured for his obstinate brother to follow him out of the Great Hall. "Do you wish to disgrace our family?" Hoster hissed furiously. "I heard that singers had began to sing about your refusal to marry Bethany Redwyne. Is it your purpose to ruin the good name of our House?"

" _Family_ , Duty, Honour, Hoster. For the sake of our family, I turned down the honour of serving in the bloody Kingsguard. Has your obsession with our family legacy changed you so much? I see you are now more Tywin Lannister than the brother I once knew. Do you not think it would be better if I return to Riverrun and help Edmure understand his duties as the heir of Riverrun."

"You are running away," said Hoster bitterly. "Shirking away from your duty as you always do. Utter craven."

"Craven am I?" Brynden leant closer. "I am doing what is best for our family. What of you? You married Cat off to a man old enough to be her father! By the Seven! Jon Arryn is even older than you!"

"He is a good man, Brynden. It is a good match."

"I do not understand you, Hoster. For years, you pestered me to find a wife and have children. If you are so concerned that Edmure will die with no sons, ending House Tully, why do you not marry yourself? Pick a fertile bride perhaps. I will not marry when you want me to or who you want me to wed nor will I join the Kingsguard and be obliged to call the bloody Kingslayer my sworn brother. As Master of Laws, you'll be stuck in this snake pit for years to come. I will return to Riverrun. Edmure needs to end his wenching days and take his responsibilities more seriously."

"So be it," muttered Hoster, visibly shaking with anger. "Go! Go back to Riverrun like a coward running from duty. You will always be the black goat of House Tully."

Brynden gave him a wry smile which only incensed Hoster more. "Blackfish," he said more quietly and calmly. His tattered cloak, fastened by an obsidian clasp in the shape of a blackfish, swirled around him as he stalked out. _Blackfish_.

Needing to cool down quickly before his first small council meeting, Hoster headed to Catelyn's rooms to visit his Arryn grandson. Playing with little Robert always mellowed his mood. Hoster smiled as he recalled the day he received the letter from Edmure that informed him both Catelyn and Lysa were with child. Months later, Catelyn gave birth to a healthy baby boy, Lysa a few days after. Thinking about his younger daughter worried him greatly – even now.

Was it wrong of Hoster not to tell Lord Stark that Lysa was no maiden? Would some consider him sly when he neglected to inform Lord Stark that Lysa had lost her virginity and was impregnated by his former ward Petyr Baelish? Was it cruel of him to force his daughter to drink moon tea to abort the bastard forming in her womb and send the boy back to his insignificant holdings somewhere in the Vale in disgrace?

 _"Cat, you'll wed Lord Jon Arryn; Lysa, you'll marry Eddard Stark of Winterfell."_ Would it have been better if Lysa married Lord Arryn instead? At least in that case, he would've been able to keep a close eye on her at court. _No_ , Hoster thought darkly. _It's much better that Lysa wedded Lord Stark. It is better she remains hidden in the cold North; my dear Lysa will not be able to survive the harshness of court_.

Hoster watched two servants carry bags and furniture from Catelyn's chambers. She was to move to the Tower of the Hand shortly. He entered and smiled when he spotted his daughter and grandson sitting by a window. "Father," said Catelyn warmly, noticing him at once. "I thought you would be at a meeting with Jon today."

 _Jon. Catelyn calls her husband Jon already_. "Later in the afternoon little Cat," Hoster replied. "I thought I would come and pay the little lord Robert a visit." He leant down to examine the babe's tiny fingers more closely as Catelyn bounced him on her knee. Little Robert gurgled happily. He reached out and pulled Hoster's auburn beard with interest. Hoster laughed and tickled him on the chin. Little Robert squealed delightedly, kicking his strong legs in the air. "He will be a robust boy, eh?" Hoster chuckled, picking him up from Catelyn's knee. "You and Jon are lucky to have such a healthy boy. I suspect he will have a bright future when he grows up." Little Robert pulled his beard again and giggled, his bright blue eyes sparkling with pleasure.

"I hope little Robert will soon have a baby brother or sister," said Catelyn, glancing at her flat stomach hopefully. _So soon?_ Alarm shrieked in Hoster's head. Minisa had fallen pregnant so quickly and was greatly weakened by it during her last pregnancy. "I am not with child now," Catelyn assured him swiftly. Hoster sighed with relief. "King's Landing is no place for a child," he said tentatively. "The unhealthy air…the stench…would it not be better for little Robert to grow in a healthier climate?"

Catelyn nodded in agreement. "I will speak to Jon," she promised. "Our son's health is imperative. I wish little Robert can grow up in peace at Riverrun, but he _is_ the heir of the Eyrie and the Vale lords will take offense if he is not raised there."

"Speak to Jon," Hoster affirmed. "If he agrees little Robert needs a brief respite or two at Riverrun, I will be most delighted." He chuckled again as little Robert lost interest in his beard and turned his attention to the silver fish brooch that clasped his blue and red cloak together. Little Robert prodded it with interest and tilted his head like a bird as he looked quizzically at it.

 _Children are the light of the world_ , Hoster thought as he reluctantly handed the baby back to Catelyn. _Their innocent smiles, happy eyes, contagious giggles…children are the true gems of the world_.

* * *

 **I always intended for Robert to give Stannis Storm's End - Stannis is one of my favourite characters after all :) I kind of based the scene with Hoster and his grandson on my own father with his baby great-niece (coincidently she is ten months old today). Robert marrying a Redwyne or Hightower will definitely bring benefits. I'm aiming for Robert to marry a Reach lady - probably a Hightower or a Florent, but a Redwyne would bring great benefits... Anyway, next chapter is another Ned chapter and it's followed by the first Lysa chapter :)**


	6. Eddard II

Since the moment Ned first met his baby son, his heart leapt with excitement as his small party consisting of Lysa and their son rode in the shadows of the tall and looming walls of Winterfell. It had been around a year since he last set foot at his home, the last time when he called his banners to war. His heart fluttered with anticipation and faintly, dread. _How will I tell Lysa there is already a baby boy in the Winterfell nursery?_

Ned had feared that moment throughout the uneventful journey from Riverrun. His relationship with Lysa had already improved. They spoke more and she inquired about the Northern houses and their sigils. When they parted ways with Lord Reed, Lysa had casted her jewels away to the bottom of her trunk. "Jewels are of the south," she decided when Ned questioned her. "The North has no need of fineries." A sensible choice on her part. He reminded himself to tell Lysa that a minimal amount of jewels could be worn on grand occasions such as weddings and feasting days.

As Ned approached the main gates of Winterfell, a small crowd of Northern smallfolk crept out from winter town, the village outside Winterfell's walls. As it was springtime, winter town was virtually empty. Ned suspected the Northerners present were from the far corners of the North who travelled to winter town for a few days with petitions for him to deal with. Not uncommon, but Ned recalled when the petitions were once given to his father to handle.

"They are so quiet," Lysa murmured as softly as a wind's whisper.

"They have been waiting to see us for a year," Ned answered, his voice echoing dryly in the hushed atmosphere. "They have not expected a lady from the Riverlands to be the Lady of Winterfell." When was the last time a Stark wedded a Riverlands maiden? Lord Rickard married his cousin Lyarra Stark, Rickard's mother was a Locke…Ned racked his mind. Who did his paternal great grandfather wed? Melissa…? Melara…? _Melantha_. That was it…Melantha Blackwood.

"Will they like me?"

"If they disapprove of you, they will not hide it." Lysa uttered the quietest of squeaks and spurred her horse closer to Ned's. Ned could not help but smile fondly at her. Lysa was certainly different from all the Northern girls he knew (not that many). Times like this, he appreciated the warmth and affection Lysa projected towards him; other times, he wished she would be more…sober? He hoped Lysa would be more prudent when he introduced her to his lord bannermen in a week or so in one of the few feasts, this one to formally welcome Lysa to Winterfell and present her to his bannermen. For decades the Lords of Winterfell had continued with that tradition – Ned planned to continue in the same fashion as his Stark ancestors.

"When will the Northern lords swear allegiance to Robb as their heir?"

Ned blinked. "What?"

"When will the Northern lords swear allegiance to Robb as their heir? Catelyn said to me that once, great lords would have their bannermen swear loyalty to their eldest sons as the heirs of the regions."

Ned had never heard of such a custom. It sounded like a tradition in King's Landing in the age of the Targaryens, maybe even at Dorne or Highgarden. Perhaps it was done at the Riverlands too where it was home to many feuding lords.

"We do not have that custom," said Ned finally. "My bannermen are always faithful to House Stark. That tradition…is unnecessary here in the north. Robb is already the heir of Winterfell and all the lords have accepted it. That is that. One day we will have more children, more sons perhaps. Whatever the case, Robb will always remain as my heir. I swear it by the old gods and new."

Lysa nodded, satisfied. "Will Robb be fostered?" she pressed.

"We will discuss it another time," said Ned gently. "Robb is still a babe. There will be a good many years before he might be fostered. We are almost at Winterfell. Welcome to your new home, Lysa."

Lysa gasped, her eyes as wide as platters as they rode even closer to Winterfell. Huge waves of emotions washed over Ned. This was his home…the home of his ancestors and descendants to come. The two massive granite walls separated by a wide moat between them defended the large castle. The outer wall was about eighty feet high, the inner wall a hundred feet high. The outer wall was further decorated with guard turrets, with more than thirty watch turrets on the crenelated inner walls.

The great main gates groaned open and Ned led his wife and son into the Winterfell courtyard, his heart pounding loudly. _I used to practice swordplay with Brandon and my father's men there_. A vision of his wild elder brother chasing him and Benjen appeared in front of him. Ned also saw the first of a seemingly endless row of stables. _Brandon and Lyanna would spend long hours in the morning and evening there_. The two of them loved riding horses. Ned closed his eyes. When he opened them, he almost believed he caught a glimpse of Lyanna galloping towards him on her favourite horse, a marvellous white palfrey, in her plain riding garments. As she rode, her torrent of brown hair would fly; it was a pretty sight. Lyanna had always found riding the happiest time of her life. Ned had oft wondered why Lyanna did not ride away when Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped her. It was possible for her to gallop away – she had a way with horses.

 _She is dead_ , Ned told himself harshly. _Lyanna is dead; Brandon is dead; Father is dead; and Mother is too_. There were a good many ghosts at Winterfell, but this wasn't the time to mope over the past. Ned had a wife and a son; it was time to look to the future. There were no more Targaryens – it will be a period of peace…hopefully.

Standing in front of the Great Keep were Winterfell's household, all in a straight line and ready to greet Ned, Lysa and Robb. Many were familiar faces, but there were about an equal number of unfamiliar ones. First to approach them was the new maester. A few months ago, Winterfell's old maester, Maester Walys, had died of a fever and according to one of Benjen's letters, he duly sent a raven to the Citadel, requesting a new maester for Winterfell. Ned studied the new maester. He was small with grey eyes and in a robe of grey wool with voluminous sleeves. The heavy chain around his neck clinked in every step he took towards Ned and Lysa. There were an array of different links – black iron, brass, bronze, copper, electrum, iron and silver only a few.

"Lord Stark," the maester spoke in a humble tone. "We welcome you, your lady wife and son back to Winterfell. I am Maester Luwin, Winterfell's new maester."

"Maester Luwin," Ned acknowledged. "How do you find Winterfell?"

"A pleasant place my lord," Maester Luwin responded. "Very Northern. Very beautiful and filled from the tallest tower to the godswood with history. I count myself fortunate to be sent to Winterfell as its new maester."

Ned smiled. He liked the maester already. "Excellent. I am pleased to hear that you've settled in. Are you satisfied with your chambers?"

"More than satisfied my lord."

"Very good. If you require anything, please let me know at once. Perhaps we will talk more tomorrow morning at breakfast."

"As you wish my lord."

Ned nodded. "May I present to you my wife, Lady Lysa, and our son, Robb?" Maester Luwin dipped his head respectfully at Lysa and she smiled graciously at him. After they exchanged a few, short words, Maester Luwin introduced Ned and Lysa to the rest of the Winterfell household. The old steward Urik Wells, had also died and had been promptly replaced by Vayon Poole, a hardworking man, according to Maester Luwin. The master of horse was still the elderly Halyn, who greeted Ned warmly. He had sadly began losing his sight – a new master of horse would be needed soon. Halyn loved horses as much as Lyanna did; Ned would not deprive the old man of one of the few joys he held. Standing beside old Halyn was his son Harwin, a stocky boy of twelve who had served as a stable boy since he was seven. The grim-faced kennelmaster Farlen, was still there, as was the blacksmith Mikken. Ned remembered the plump cook Croll and his son Gage, who had a knack at making cakes, a rare skill in Northern cooks. The nurse Nan gave Ned a wide, toothless grin when she saw him and tried to pat Robb on the head. Her great grandson Hodor, a large man with slow wits, grunted at him happily. After the introductions were over, Ned realised he needed to appoint a new brewer, master-at-arms and a captain of the household guard.

Ned glanced at Lysa. Perhaps he should request a septon or septa too. He had no wish to force Lysa to pray to the old guards when she was raised in the Faith of the Seven. All the northerners embraced the old guards except House Manderly of White Harbour. He reminded himself to send a raven to White Harbour for sound advice regarding septons and septas. There was the matter of a building a sept too…

He yearned to escape to the godswood; he itched for an hour to himself there. He had spent time in the Riverrun godswood, but it felt different to the one at Winterfell. There were no two godswoods that were the same. Mayhap he would pay the godswood a visit after he spoke to Benjen, Robb snug in his cradle in the nursery and Lysa settled in her own chambers. Yes, only after then would he seek solace with the old gods.

As Maester Luwin dismissed the household and Halyn took the horses to the stables, Ned slowly led Lysa to the Great Keep. It was the innermost castle and stronghold of the castle complex, its walls also made of granite. Lysa exclaimed with surprise as a wave of heat warmed the three of them to their bones once the Great Keep's large doors swung shut behind them.

"The Great Keep was built over natural hot springs to keep the castle residents warm and cosy," Ned explained. Lysa nodded. "I do not even need furs in here," she murmured, still in awe. Ned smiled. His smile widened when he caught sight of his younger brother and now only surviving sibling Benjen, head towards him.

In the time span of a year, Benjen had grown from a boy to a young man. Benjen had sharp features and the icy blue eyes of their mother – Benjen was the only one who had inherited their mother's icy blue eyes. He looked healthy, but what worried Ned was his very thin build. _He will grow more plump_ , Ned assured himself worriedly.

"Ned!" Benjen said joyfully. "You are finally home."

"Aye," said Ned affectionately. "I am. I will not go away for some time. You look well, Brother. Have you been eating more meat? You look a little thin."

"Lord Karstark had sent over some meat from deer and rabbits he and his family had hunted. It was quite kind of him."

"Indeed…" The Karstarks and Starks always held a more familial relationship, due to the Karstarks being distantly related to them. It was still kind of Lord Rickard Karstark to have some of his kills sent to Benjen. Ned's last orders to Benjen before he went off to war was for him to remain at Winterfell and never leave under any circumstances. If he loses his last sibling…Ned could not even imagine the grief of it. "I will thank him on the next time we meet," Ned continued. "Benjen, this is my wife Lady Lysa, and our baby son Robb. Lysa, this is my brother Benjen."

"My lady." Benjen smiled at Lysa. "Welcome to Winterfell."

"Thank you my lord," Lysa responded immediately. "I am honoured to meet you."

"When I heard Ned had married, I could not wait to meet my good-sister." He peered at Robb who stared back curiously. "How is my little nephew?"

"Tired." Lysa bounced Robb a little. "He had a _long_ journey." She gently kissed him on the forehead. "Say hello to your uncle Benjen."

"Perhaps you would like refreshments?"

"That would be nice." Lysa beamed. "I think Robb needs another feeding too. I cannot wait to see the nursery."

Benjen and Ned glanced at each other. It was too early to show Lysa the nursery. "We can eat and drink first," Ned suggested. "I heard that you liked lemon cakes, Lysa. When we were at Castle Cerwyn yesterday, I sent Benjen a message to ask Croll, Gage and the other cooks to make lemon cakes for you."

Lysa's eyes lit up. "Oh Eddard! How sweet of you! Lemon cakes! I love lemon cakes so much! They have always been my favourite cakes since I was a child." She tittered. "Cat and I used to sneak into the kitchens at night and snatch them."

"I want you happy here," said Ned truthfully. "I hope you will find the lemon cakes as delicious as the ones from your childhood. At Winterfell, we do not consume fruit cakes as much as southroners did. However, we do have an excellent head cook whose son has great skills in making desserts of any kind. Would you care for some fresh bread and a cup of tea too? Mint tea is delicious." He hurriedly guided Lysa and Robb out of the Great Keep and towards the Great Hall, Benjen trailing behind them.

Exteriorly, the Great Hall was enclosed with grey stone and covered with banners. It was surrounded by the open courtyard which served as a place of mingling on occasions of celebration such as weddings and a practice area Ned knew well. The two guards that were posted at the front pushed open the wide oak-and-iron doors. Lysa gasped again in wonder. Ned looked around. It was large and held eight long rows of trestle tables, four to each side of the central aisle; it was able to seat five hundred people. At the other end contained a raised platform for noble guests.

Nothing had changed in a year.

Ned led Lysa to the high table and told the waiting servant, "Fresh bread and eggs, a few cups of mint tea and lemon cakes if you will." He said down next to her and Benjen was seated on his other side.

"Where is Howland?" inquired Benjen. "I thought he would be here with you."

"He went home when we went our separate ways at the Twins," Ned replied. "There have always been hostility between the Freys and the crannogmen."

"You stopped at _the Twins?_ "

Ned glanced at Lysa. She was busily cooing at Robb. "We did not have much choice in that," he murmured. "The journey from Riverrun…it was uneventful but it was not easy. We had a baby with us and Lysa…she needed a day's rest in every few days of travel. We should have rode straight from the Crossroads Inn up north via kingsroad, but Lysa was afraid we would be attacked by mountain clans during the night so we ended up riding to the Twins. Lord Frey was ah, courteous…to an extent."

Benjen chuckled. "What happened, Brother?"

Ned grimaced. "Introductions took about an hour, if not longer. Lord Frey insisted on presenting his entire family to us, trueborn and baseborn. About a quarter or so of them are named either Walder or Walda. By the end of introductions, I had already lost count of all the Walders and Waldas. He even showed us his newborn daughter."

"Another Walda?"

"By the gods no. Roslin, I think he called her. Her mother, his fifth wife Lady Bethany Rosby, died giving birth to her a few days ago; Lord Frey already hinted that he planned to wed again soon." Ned shuddered. "I pity his future bride. After only two days in Lord Frey's company…I was glad when Lysa declared herself ready to leave. Over supper, the Lord of the Crossing suggested a betrothal between Robb and Roslin. He said her dowry will be her weight in silver and when the time comes, if I am dissatisfied at the prospect of having Lady Roslin as my good-daughter, I – or Robb – will be more than welcomed to pick another of his daughters or granddaughters to join House Stark with her dowry too being her weight in silver."

"That is very generous of Lord Frey."

"Quite. I politely refused. It is too early to agree to any betrothals for Robb right now. I intend to locate him a northern or Vale bride to reinforce traditional Stark alliances to assure the bannermen that not all Starks marry southroners." He broke into a smile. "If you are interested, you can have a Frey bride. Lord Frey _did_ say that he will die content if he marries one of his daughters to you."

Benjen laughed. "Are any of them pretty?"

Ned shrugged. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If you are at all interested…"

"No," said Benjen quickly. "Oh no, I have no desire to take a Frey wife."

"Freys?" Lysa shuddered. "Ugh. Lord Walder Frey frightens me. Ever since I was little, he tried to marry me off to one of his hideous sons or grandsons. Oh Eddard, remember when Lord Frey wanted to wed that ugly baby of his to our dear, sweet Robb? As long as I live, no Frey will be my good-daughter." She held Robb closer to her chest. Robb didn't look particularly happy. His small mouth formed into a frown and he uttered sounds of discontentment. "Eddard," Lysa said, standing up. "I think our little boy wishes to be put to bed now. We can always eat afterwards."

A lump formed in Ned's throat. He was not ready yet…

"Now?" said Benjen, his eyes darting between Lysa and Ned nervously. "The…tea and lemon cakes are…are almost here."

"Lemon cakes need to cool down," said Lysa impatiently. "Oh Eddard, I long to see the nursery. Can we not go and put Robb in his crib and return? I wish to see the nursery – I plan to sew banners and tapestries to decorate the walls. I do not want our son to stare at blank walls all day."

Benjen glanced at Ned helplessly.

"Robb does not look tired," Ned commented. "Why don't you put him down…or have Benjen hold him? I don't think Benjen had a chance to hold his nephew yet." Lysa's lips formed into a stubborn line and she did not relinquish Robb, who had began fussing. To Ned's relief, the servant arrived with a large plate of lemon cakes. Still holding Robb like an overprotective wolf, Lysa carefully picked up a lemon cake and examined it. Ned and Benjen exchanged a confused glance. What was there about lemon cakes to stare at as if they were poisoned?

"It is delicious," tempted Benjen.

"Robb first," Lysa insisted stubbornly. "A mother must always care for her child first." She remained standing and looked at Ned expectedly.

"I will return," Ned told Benjen. "You go ahead and eat without us. If Maester Luwin is looking for me, tell him I will be in the nursery." Benjen nodded, biting his lip. Back into the Great Keep Ned went, Lysa and Robb with him. Every step he took seemed to be like another step into a black pool of dread. Ned nodded at the two guards standing in front of the nursery, the Stark sigil emblazoned on their tunics. "You may go," he said, biting his tongue to stay calm. "Come back in say, an hour."

"Aye milord," one responded. The two of them walked away. Ned's heart pounded as loudly as the sound of drums as he slowly pushed open the nursery door. Like the Great Keep, Great Hall and virtually all the buildings in Winterfell, the nursery hadn't changed much at all. To one side of the large room was an empty hearth, a couple of logs and bits of kindle already in its open mouth while another stack of logs sat in a black iron bucket beside it. The majority of the stone floor had been covered with a thin layer of furs and on the opposite side of the chamber were two cribs. A number of chairs were scattered throughout the room and close to the cradles was a round table that carried a few bowls and cups of probably milk.

"The nursery is _lovely_ ," said Lysa, gazing around. "Very soon there will be many toys all over the-" She stopped and stared at the two cradles. Her eyes narrowed. Ned waited nervously. The warm blue in her eyes had turned into a shade of frigid blue. "There are _two_ cribs," she stated suspiciously. " _Two_." She strode to the two cradles at a rapid speed that she had never exhibited before. Ned followed, his heart beating even faster. It was the moment he had feared – it reminded him of the eve of battle.

"There are _two_ cribs." Lysa's voice rose.

"Yes," said Ned uneasily.

"There are _two_ cribs." Her voice had become even shriller. " _Two!_ Two, Eddard! Why are there two cribs? We only have one child!" Ned winced as she gasped. No doubt she had now laid eyes on…the other infant. _Would it have been better if I had agreed to Lord Reed's offer?_ It was too late now. Even if the boy had been shipped to Greywater Watch to be fostered until he was a man grown, Lysa must be told eventually.

" _Whose child is that?_ "

"He is of mine blood," Ned croaked, his throat suddenly tighter. Lysa held Robb even firmer when she whipped back and glared at him, tears shimmering in her eyes.

"Why?" she asked, a tear falling onto Robb's cheek. "You are the, the honourable Lord Eddard Stark! Why? Was he…before we wed?" She sounded hopeful.

 _Yes_ , a voice said in Ned's head. _Lie to her. Lies will soothe her more_. "Not exactly," Ned said uncomfortably.

"Not exactly," Lysa repeated angrily. "Do you not know? If you don't know, why bring him here? Leave him with his mother."

"She is dead."

Lysa laughed hysterically. " _Dead!_ A likely story Lord Stark! A likely story! You found it more honourable to foist a bastard on me rather than to keep to your wedding vows! I'll not have it, Lord Stark! _I will not have it!_ " Ned watched helplessly as she shot the other baby a deadly glare and stormed off with Robb in her arms.

* * *

 **Haha I know I said I'd try and not matchmake as much, but it's so addictive :D You probably noticed that I added a few OCs in the Winterfell household - I did that so it would fit the time (283 AC) a little more as not all the 298 AC Winterfell staff are old enough (or born yet). Littlefinger's climb to power will definitely be more challenging :) Next chapter is the first Lysa chapter.**


	7. Lysa

There was a bastard in Winterfell right under her nose.

 _Lord Stark's_ bastard.

Oh why could it not be…be the cook's bastard or the steward's? Why in the Seven did it have to be _Lord Stark's?_ Lysa hurried through the maze of unfamiliar corridors, tears running down her cheeks. _Why, Eddard? Why?_ She pushed open a random door – all the doors in Winterfell looked identical – and sobbed with relief as she discovered it was an unoccupied bedchamber with a window.

Shutting the door behind her, she almost ran to the window. At Riverrun, everywhere she looked were long winding rivers and vast green fields. Here? Granite walls. It felt as if she was locked in a tower like the damsels she sang about. _I am trapped_ , she thought, a tear splashing onto her hand. _I am trapped at Winterfell…and in this marriage_.

A bastard!

Lysa had thought good fortune smiled upon her the day her father told her she was to wed the handsome, brooding Eddard Stark of Winterfell. That day, she feared Cat would have Eddard as her husband (good fortune _always_ beamed at Cat) while she'd be forced to marry the old Lord Arryn. That day, she even felt a little smug that for once in her life, Cat was not fated to be the pretty maiden married to a strong and chivalrous knight and was saddled in marriage with a man at least twice her age.

What could have gone wrong?

Once Lysa had entered through the gates of matrimony, she'd been blessed with joy and happiness. A handsome husband, a beautiful baby boy…

What could have gone wrong?

That bastard…

 _I will strangle him the next time I see him_ , Lysa thought savagely, anger raging through her body. She had never been so furious before! Not even those nights when…

"He will die," she abruptly muttered aloud. She began to pace, rocking Robb absently. Oh, that little bastard would never see the light of day again. "He will die," she said again in an effort to console herself. " _He will die_." She shivered with excitement and eagerness as her thoughts wandered into the field of bloodshed. Bastards were the product of sin – they should not even be brought into the world. She would be doing the gods a favour if she… _removed_ the bastard from under her roof. She giggled. How in the Seven would she eradicate the bastard? Poisoning? No. She never wrapped her head around potions and herbs that were deadly. Stabbing? By the gods no. When she caught sight of a dead deer, she had almost fainted. Smothering? An ideal option but the thought of that boy's dark grey eyes staring back at her…

No, that would not do at all.

The last thing she needed was the bastard's ghost haunting her in all of eternity. Lysa sighed. Oh why couldn't Petyr have come with her? He was so clever…he would've been able to help her now…

Lysa looked lovingly at _her_ son. He was so beautiful, so perfect. He did look more like her than Eddard, but he was a Stark at heart. Resentment augmented in her heart as the image of the bastard reappeared in her head. Though only a babe, the bastard looked a Stark – more Stark than her dear Robb. With his tuft of curly dark brown hair and those big, grey eyes so dark they bordered on black…upon glance, he would be more mistaken as the Stark heir, not Robb. Oh why couldn't he have looked more like his whore mother? _She must have been very beautiful_ , Lysa thought bitterly. _Attractive enough to lure Lord Stark to her bed. Whore._ She wondered who it could've been. A plain northern girl that might have caught his attention during the long march from Winterfell to the south? A girl from the Riverlands perhaps. Whatever the case, the slut must've been noble; even a worthy, honourable lord like her husband would never have brought a lowborn bastard into his home.

A thought struck her. What if that bastard was older than Robb? What if…the men of the North decided they preferred a liege lord with the Stark look rather than a trueborn Stark who favoured the Tully features?

That bastard must die.

There was no room in Winterfell for the heir of Winterfell and the bastard.

"I'll be doing it for you my darling," Lysa murmured, pressing Robb closer to her. "I'll be doing it for you. Everything I do will be for you, my sweet child. Your father will want you to befriend…that bastard, but it will end in naught but disaster. Bastards bring you nothing but trouble. It all comes to bad blood. You are descended from the most noblest of Houses in all of Westeros, my child. Houses Stark and Tully. Tully blood flows in your veins and you carry the Stark name. You are my perfect child."

It felt like her mind cleared for the first time since Lord Stark cruelly presented that bastard to her. It was so…obvious. To secure Robb's place as _the_ heir of Winterfell, as his mother, it was her duty to remove any obstacle in his way. She'd never be able to rest at all, knowing that bastard remained alive and well in Winterfell. Horror chilled her. _What if Robb becomes ill? What if he dies of a fever or a cold?_ She would rather die a horrible death than witness the bastard become Lord of Winterfell instead of Robb. Bastard that boy might be now, but anything was possible. Bastards could be legitimised; they might be chosen to be the next lord in the event all his trueborn relatives died.

Lysa shuddered. _The bastard will not be Lord of Winterfell_ , she thought determinedly. There were not many Starks left. Her good-brother must wed and sire children. She did not care who he married – by the Seven, he could even wed a Frey if he must! – but the woman must be fertile and he _must_ have children. Any Stark would be better as Lord of Winterfell than that bastard.

With a deep sigh, she looked around. _Whose chamber is this?_ She wondered. Leaving Robb on the bed, she stood up and returned to the window. Her slim fingers ran across the table under it. No dust. Wiping away her tears, she noticed Stark banners hanging all over the walls. She opened a drawer and spotted a clumsily stitched image of a wolf on a square piece of linen. Could this have been Lyanna Stark's room?

The door creaked open. "Lysa?"

Though Lysa hated Eddard for imposing his bastard under their roof, it was still quite thrilling when he called her name. Lysa's heart fluttered as he said her name again. She looked away as she heard him approach her. It was like one of the songs she loved! Like a chivalrous knight, Eddard was about to apologise for his actions and be on his knees to beg for her forgiveness. _"No,"_ Lysa imagined herself saying. _"There is naught you can say or do that will earn my forgiveness…unless you rid Winterfell of that bastard. I will not have him near our son."_ In a moment of desperation, Eddard would agree. Lysa wanted to squeal with joy and clap her hands happily.

All would be well soon.

"Lysa," Eddard said gently, sitting on the bed beside her. "I apologise if I shocked or hurt you by showing you Jon so soon." Lysa remained silent. "You must know that I will never abandon those of mine blood," he continued. "Bastard or no, it is not right to leave a child alone in the world when you have the chance to raise him."

"You should not have made him in the first place!" Lysa snapped.

Eddard was unfazed. "Whatever the case, one never abandons family. Will you forget your Tully words, Lysa? _Family, Duty, Honour_. Jon is as much a part of this family as our Robb. Give Jon a chance, Lysa. Please. Give Jon a chance. He is still a babe. Forget that he is not your son by blood; he is still a child. He needs a mother's love and a mother's care. Please be his mother Lysa."

Fury flashed in Lysa's eyes. "No! How can you ask this of me, Lord Stark? You are the most wicked man I know! I will never accept your bastard as my son." Eddard winced a little. "Bastards are bad influences," Lysa continued recklessly. "Do you want Robb to be friends with him?"

"They are brothers," Eddard told her flatly. "They will grow up together as brothers, not just friends. What do you want me to do Lysa, leave Jon to the wolves?"

"You will always love your bastard more than every child I give you." Tears appeared in Lysa's eyes again. "Don't deny it! Many highborn women die unhappy because of their husbands loving their bastards more than their trueborn sons and daughters. You have sentenced me to a wretched life Eddard, a miserable life. Is that what you want? Do you want me to die unhappy too?"

"Lysa, you are hysterical. Calm down. You will not be unhappy here."

"I will!" Lysa declared persistently. "As long as your bastard remains under our roof, I will remain unhappy. Every time I look at your bastard, my heart will break. I'll not have it, Eddard. I will return to Riverrun with Robb. At least there he will be raised in a happy environment. No bastard is – or ever will be – welcomed at Riverrun."

Eddard sighed. "I will not stop you leaving," he said simply. "However, as the heir of Winterfell, Robb must stay here. He must learn the ways of the North if he'll be the next Lord of Winterfell."

"You will deprive him of his mother!"

Eddard met her horrified gaze. "Better his mother than his future dominions."

"You will not even consider sending…Jon away?"

Eddard's expression softened. "We will see," he answered. "If say, by the end of a few months and you still find living with Jon unbearable, I will look around for a lord willing to foster him." Speckles of guilt covered Lysa's heart as she caught sight of sadness in his eyes. _Family, Duty, Honour_ …"You must never forget your family comes first," her father had told her and Catelyn when they were little. "Family first, then your duty, and finally honour. Never sacrifice family for honour."

No doubt taking her silence for thought, Eddard spoke again. "This was my mother's chamber when she was a girl," he remarked. "Even after she married my father, she had decided to keep her girlhood rooms as a place of comfort. I thought it would've gathered dust during the war, but it seemed Benjen had the servants maintain it well. Did you see my mother's needlework? It was not as fine as yours. She said that she would rather be off hunting in the woods than at home sewing. Her mother, a Flint of the mountains, had not forced her to hone her sewing skills."

Lysa wrinkled her nose. "What else would a lady do if not sewing?"

Eddard shrugged. "Apparently hunting. My mother dwelled here with her sister for a summer before returning to her home in the mountains. My father enjoyed hunting with her. He never admitted it, but I oft suspect it was due to hunting that they fell in love and married. There were no particular political benefits in the match."

"How…romantic." Lysa suppressed a shudder. The thought of a highborn lady doing anything but sewing was…strange. Riding was acceptable as was splashing about in the river, but hunting? How positively...vile.

Eddard chuckled. "You do not enjoy hunting?"

"The sight of blood…" She shivered.

"Lysa, will you try and accept Jon as your own?"

Lysa could not help but frown. "He…" Her voice trailed off. If she killed the bastard, all signs would point to her immediately. Say she accepted him for a few years…if she was blessed by lady luck, perhaps a winter fever would kill Jon. It was rumoured that natural children were often more robust than trueborn ones…in the south. Maybe the northern winds would blow the bastard out of her life once and for all. "Yes," she said grudgingly, earning herself a broad smile from Eddard.

"You will?" Eddard pressed. "You swear by the old gods and new you will care for Jon as if he is your own son?"

No. For as long as I live, I will never accept him as my own. "Yes," Lysa lied. "I swear it by the old gods and new that I will care for…Jon as if he is my own son."

* * *

That evening was no better.

Eddard had unkindly insisted for her to spend more time in the nursery with both the boys. Lysa sat on the plain, hard chair, glowering at that bastard infant. If he wasn't fast asleep, he was staring at her unblinkingly with his wide dark eyes. It was so…unnatural. Most babes smile, not stare expressionlessly! _Does he know I wish him dead?_ Lysa could not help but wonder queasily. How could he? He was a babe. Surely a little infant would not know if one despised him or not. Deciding to ignore him, Lysa turned and watched Robb sleep peacefully. She smiled. He was such a good child, a sweet baby. She was very fortunate in having such a well-behaved infant.

 _He will look so beautiful wrapped in a grey and white blanket_ , Lysa pondered, smiling at her sleeping son. Her smile widened as she tried to imagine her baby boy as a young man. One day he would marry a pretty girl and have his own children. Lysa wrinkled her nose at that. Having grandchildren…it made her feel old. She winced at the prospect of the bastard siring his own offspring. More Snows. Horrible.

"How are the children?" Eddard came in again. Ever since she promised to view that bastard as her own son – which she had no intention of doing – Eddard had treated her more kindly and spoke to her more. _I still won't forgive you for the bastard_. A fresh batch of tears was about to well up in her eyes when she blinked them away. No matter how much she cried, it was ineffective to her stoic husband.

"Robb is sleeping," Lysa replied.

"And Jon?"

"Awake."

Eddard walked over to the bastard's cradle and smiled at him. To Lysa's chagrin, the bastard smiled back at him. She reluctantly joined Eddard and to her horror, noticed at once that someone had placed the bastard in an old crib.

The _Stark_ crib.

One night over supper in Riverrun (this was a year or two ago), her father had drank a little too much Arbor gold and revealed that both Catelyn and Edmure had slept in the Tully cradle when they were babes. Lysa remembered that cradle well. It was an ancient thing, constructed from weirwood with the Tully sigil at the two ends of the cradle now almost completely faded. Father had said it should be repainted, but the Tully crib had remained in a spare chamber ever since Edmure outgrew it. "The Tully crib is a special crib," Father had told her, Catelyn and Edmure. "Only the oldest child and the Tully heir sleep in it. Our ancestor Axel, the first Lord of Riverrun, had the Tully crib made for his own heir. Every Lord of Riverrun had slept in that very crib. Every Great House in all of the Seven Kingdoms have cribs like this, some made much earlier than House Tully's. No doubt one day, Cat and Lysa, your sons will sleep in old cribs too."

The wet nurse must have made a mistake. It should be _Robb_ in the Stark crib, not the bastard! "Eddard," said Lysa cautiously, curling her fingers into a fist to calm herself. "It is only a…little matter, but um, why is…Jon in the Stark crib? Should Robb not sleep in it instead? He is the Stark heir."

"Stark crib?" Eddard frowned, a look of confusion written all over his face. "What…do you mean, Lysa? Stark crib?"

Lysa pointed to the crib the bastard occupied. " _That_ crib. It's much older than the crib Robb is sleeping in. That is not right, Eddard. Robb should be the one sleeping in the old Stark cradle, not…Jon."

"Lysa…we don't have Stark cradles…"

"All Great Houses do," Lysa insisted. "My father said so."

"Um, perhaps the Great Houses in the south have…special cribs, but here in the north, we do not have special cribs for babes. Either all the babes have their own cribs or they reuse those slept in by their elder siblings and perhaps ancestors." His gaze softened. "It is my crib that Robb is sleeping in."

"What of Jon's?"

"My brother Brandon's and Lyanna's. Lyanna was born three years after me – by then, Brandon had no need of a crib."

Alarm jabbed Lysa in the heart. _Brandon's_ crib? The bastard was in _Brandon's_ crib? It must be wrong…Eddard was wrong. Brandon was Winterfell's heir! If that bastard was in Brandon's crib…did it mean Eddard still entertained the ludicrous notion of declaring his bastard an heir of Winterfell? It was sweet that Eddard gave Robb his old cradle, but he was a second son! If Brandon Stark had not died, he would still be a younger son with not many bright prospects. Was giving the bastard Brandon's old crib signifying that the bastard would have a better career in life than her dear Robb?

Before Lysa could demand for the babes to swap cribs, a thought struck her. The crib was Brandon's _and_ Lyanna's…both had met misfortune and death in the south. Perhaps one day the bastard would encounter bad luck too…

"I overreacted," Lysa said to the bewildered Eddard. "My apologies my lord."

"I…see." Eddard still seemed at a loss. "You uh, do not wish for the boys to swap cribs at all? I can arrange for that-"

"No, no. I overreacted, that is all. Both the babies can remain in their cribs." She gave him a rather forced smile. "Do they not look so sweet in their cribs? Hopefully one day I will give them a little sister or brother to play with. I know you wish for another son, my lord husband, and I hope not to disappoint you. We named Robb after the king and your best friend – will our next son be named in honour of your father? Perhaps if we have a little daughter, she can be called Lyanna, after your sister, or perhaps Lyarra, after your lady mother?" The thought of having more children with Eddard seemed to be the only notion able to make her forget about that dreaded bastard of Winterfell. No matter how deep her hatred towards Eddard was for bringing his bastard to her, Lysa still desired a great number of children to call her own. Many sons with Stark and Tully features and a good many pretty daughters who take after herself.

Lovely thoughts.

Eddard frowned. "Is it not too soon to consider more children? Robb's still a babe and there is your health to consider. We will have more children…soon. Our House is not at all close to extinction and we are both young. Children will come when the time is ripe. For now, I want you to settle and rest."

 _I do not want to rest! I want to see Winterfell littered with children –_ our _children. I'll not rest until I bear you enough children to make you forget that bastard_. All Lysa could do was smile tightly and agree. Why couldn't Eddard understand? They need more sons and daughters – the North required it. Was it not a wife's duty to give her husband many children? How was she able to fulfil it with Eddard adamant in her resting? _Petyr would know his duty_ , Lysa contemplated as she excused herself and hurried back to the spare chamber she took a liking to. _Petyr would want dozens of sons and daughters…and he'd want me to give them to him_. Her thoughts flittered like butterflies as she remembered her father's former ward, _sweet, thoughtful, kind_ Petyr. Why did it matter if he was from House Baelish of the Fingers, an impoverished House in the Vale? Why would it matter if he was not wealthy or from a Great House?

It was love!

Nothing could stand in the way of true happiness! Nothing!

 _There was Father_ , a voice in Lysa's head reminded her _. Father was cruel to you…and to Petyr. He forced you to drink that horrible tea and sent Petyr away. He wouldn't even let him say goodbye to you. If he was a kind father, he would allow you to marry Petyr. If he did, you would be giving Petyr his second or third child by now_. If they had a son, he would be called Petyr. If a girl, Pietra or Alayne. Petyr would be happy if one of their daughters was named after his mother.

Lysa suddenly brightened. Perhaps…perhaps she could convince Eddard to give Petyr a position here at Winterfell! Petyr was clever; he would be an excellent steward. Surely he was much wiser than the present Steward of Winterfell. Lysa smiled reminiscently as she recalled dear Petyr helping her with her numbers. Such a quick-witted boy…she had never met anyone so shrewd before. Yes, once dear Petyr was settled at Winterfell, the more tolerable life would be.

"Do you not wish to be taken to your proper chambers my lady?" Lysa almost clicked her teeth with annoyance as her new companion, some plump brown haired and brown eyed Northern girl, no doubt a daughter of one of his bannermen.

"I like this chamber," said Lysa stiffly. "I would like to be alone thank you."

"As my lady wishes." The girl dipped her head and left. Lysa watched her depart, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. It was never wise to trust a stranger – even one who had been appointed her companion by her husband. Lysa grabbed the quill on the table and a piece of parchment and began to write. _Dear Petyr…_

* * *

 **I enjoyed writing this chapter :) I meant to upload this yesterday, but such a heavy workload lately :( I know Lysa's thoughts of killing Jon were quite extreme, but she is still young and had lived a life dreaming about true knights, princes, faithful husbands etc. Even though Jon is a bastard, she still thinks (at the moment) that he is a threat to Robb. As for the seemingly random crib conversation, I kind of based that on this Tudor documentary I watched a few years ago about how King Henry VIII commissioned a gilded cradle for his future son by Anne Boleyn, but as she never gave him a son, that crib was never used (it's a David Starkey documentary - I highly recommend it if you're interested :D ).**


	8. Jon II

Before Jon could announce for the small council meeting to begin, an argument had already erupted between the enigmatic Lord Varys and even more surprisingly, Grand Maester Pycelle. Both were already seated in their respective places around the council table before Jon even arrived; at least their quarrel was more quiet and had no chance of reaching bloodshed with one being a eunuch and the other a frail, old maester.

"My lords," said Jon, taking his place on the right of the king's seat. "Please cease this bickering. If it concerns matters of state, at least wait until all the council members are present." He glanced at the spot to his right. His hopes of King Robert Baratheon sitting there had diminished significantly. With the love of his life dead and Ned far away in the isolated north, chances of convincing the Baratheon king to attend council meetings had only grown more difficult.

"Is there something amiss my lord Hand?" asked Varys mildly.

Jon shook his head. "I wondered if the king would join us today."

The Master of Whisperers rubbed his soft white hands together. "I'm afraid you will be quite disappointed, my lord. My little birds have told me that His Grace had left early in the morning on a hunting trip with only a select few in his company. Of his depleted Kingsguard, I believe it was Ser Barristan the Bold who went with him. It seemed that His Grace mistrusts Ser Jaime Lannister." For good reason too. Ser Jaime was not called the Kingslayer for naught.

Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat. "It would've been much safer for His Grace to have had Ser Jaime at his side," he said with a slight frown. He stroked his long, snowy white beard. "Ser Barristan is a great warrior yes, but he is not…as young and robust as he used to be. He'd been injured in the war too. What if assassins were to attack the king during his hunt and Ser Barristan is incapacitated?"

"His Grace might be in more danger with the _Kingslayer_ at his side than from a squad of assassins Grand Maester," Lord Varys retorted. "Odd that some still believe the proud lions are kings of the forests rather than stags."

"What is this about kings of the forests?" To Jon's relief, Lord Hoster Tully and Kevan Lannister entered. It was Ser Kevan who inquired about the kings of the forests.

"Nothing Ser Kevan," responded Varys, the Grand Maester mumbling in agreement. "I see you are in good health today. It must be shocking to have the blood of innocent little girls and babies staining your House, Ser Kevan." The Lannister knight ignored him, his green eyes revealing nothing. The Lannister features ran strong in the family it seemed. When Jon greeted him, he could not help but think of a slightly younger Tywin Lannister, the only difference being Ser Kevan more portly around the waist than his brother and he seemed to have kinder eyes.

Ser Barristan walked in and was followed by Lord Stannis Baratheon, the new Master of Ships. Jon was pleased to note that the middle Baratheon brother was in much better spirits than he was the last time he saw him. _Lord Stannis should smile more. If Robert dies say tomorrow, Stannis will be the next king. The people will not like a gloomy king_. At least the Lord of Storm's End had ceased scowling.

"My brother the king had gone hunting," Stannis informed the small council.

"Thank you my lord Baratheon," said Varys, smiling indulgently at him as if he was a favoured nephew. "I had already told it to Lord Arryn."

"There is no harm in Lord Baratheon mentioning it," spoke Jon. "Now that everyone is present, let us discuss the most vital matters of state."

Ser Barristan nodded. "Indeed my lord. The Kingsguard needs more members. Strong and just knights who deserve the white cloak." He glanced covertly at Ser Kevan who'd remained silent – or perhaps in thought? "It is quite disappointing that the Blackfish had refused the honour," he went on, shaking his head with regret. "He would have made an excellent addition in the Kingsguard."

"Must we discuss the Kingsguard without the king present?" inquired Varys.

"All we must do is draw up a list of potential candidates," Jon told him, "and at a later time, preferably soon though, the king and Ser Barristan will confer their choices."

"Forgive me my lord Hand, but you think the matter of the Kingsguard is of more ah, importance than say, Dorne?"

Jon looked around at the other council members. Both Lords Hoster and Stannis and Ser Kevan seemed more inclined to discuss Dorne. "Very well," said Jon at last. "We will turn our attention to Dorne; we will speak more of the Kingsguard once we decide what to do about Dorne." Ser Barristan nodded.

"It is Prince Oberyn we should concern ourselves with, not Prince Doran," spoke Lord Hoster. "He is a rather hot-tempered young man. He will not rest until he has revenge on the deaths of his sister, uncle, niece and nephew."

Varys giggled. "It should be both Dornish princes we should worry about my lords. It is my belief that as much as our hot-headed Prince Oberyn can rant and rage and swear vengeance, he cannot act without the permission of his brother Prince Doran. We must not forget that it is Doran Martell who is the Prince of Dorne."

"Has there been words of rebellion?" asked Lord Stannis.

"Not of yet my lord Baratheon. A few have fluttered to the ears of my little birds, but I do not think it is serious. Prince Oberyn's words were more like the words of a furious, protective older brother."

"Must those words border on treason?"

"You lost your parents to the sea," said Jon quietly. "Prince Oberyn lost his loved ones too. He thinks more deaths will satisfy his desire for revenge. I do not know the man, but I understand his grief. All of Dorne is grieving for the deaths of Princess Elia Martell and her children. Once their anguish overflows…they will all call for blood."

"They have no allies," Lord Hoster pointed out. "Even if all of Dorne screams for blood and start a rebellion, they will have no allies and will be defeated in a few months at the earliest. What if they declare for a Targaryen king?"

"There are no Targaryens left," Ser Kevan reminded him. "The only Targaryen male is Viserys and he is in the black cells. Rhaella Targaryen may have escaped, but no one will support her. Last time a Targaryen woman declared herself queen, the Seven Kingdoms became a battleground. All our ancestors suffered greatly in that."

"We all know our history Ser Kevan," said Varys silkily.

" _Our_ history?" Grand Maester Pycelle huffed disapprovingly.

"Prince Doran is a shrewd man," Jon spoke before Varys could reply. "Even though he might be persuaded to start an uprising, he will be more keen for justice and peace. We must ensure Dorne remains in the fold. If they rise against the king, I have the faintest of suspicions that the Reach will join them. The Tyrells have been loyal to the Targaryens since the beginning. Though forgiven by our gracious king, they will snatch any chance to make a grab for more power." Lord Stannis nodded fervently, his blue eyes darkening at the mere mention of Tyrells. "However," Jon went on. "I have considered a method to subdue the Tyrells' greed for power – temporarily."

"Marriage?" guessed Ser Kevan.

Jon nodded. Stannis frowned. "I will not wed a Tyrell," he stated bluntly. "I will never call the Oaf of Highgarden my good-father."

"I have proposed a match between Mace Tyrell's younger sister Lady Mina and Lord Tully's heir, Ser Edmure," Jon continued. He looked at Lord Stannis. "I have no intention to allow a Tyrell to marry too closely to the Iron Throne. What good is there at all in the mere thought of rewarding one's enemy with a magnificent marriage? No Lord Stannis, even if you desire it, there will be no Tyrell bride for you."

Stannis nodded, satisfied. "They deserve to lose Highgarden," he muttered under his breath. Jon glanced at him. Oh yes, the Baratheon fury was in him. Not as obvious as the king's, but it was there.

"Will you agree to the union?" Ser Kevan asked Lord Hoster.

"Yes," Lord Hoster answered. "It is a fine match."

Grand Maester Pycelle frowned and coughed. "Lord Hand, to control Highgarden and the rest of the Reach, it must be a strong House that-"

"There will be _peace_ ," Jon cut in sharply. "The Tyrells know they are defeated. If they do rise against the king, they will find themselves against Houses Baratheon, Stark, Tully, Arryn and Lannister. Though a fool, Mace Tyrell will be aware that his future – and that of his House – will be grim if he so foolishly decides to rebel."

"Perhaps we should frighten Highgarden into total submission?" Varys suggested. "It was said that there are many more noble Houses in the Reach that deserve Highgarden more than House Tyrell, House Florent being one."

"The Florents?" Ser Kevan snorted. "You jest Lord Varys."

The Master of Whisperers smiled and spread his hands mysteriously. "There'd never been good relations between Houses Tyrell and Florent."

Lord Hoster nodded slowly. "I heard their enmity rose again when one of the Lords of Highgarden refused to wed a Florent, choosing to marry an Oakheart or a Crane instead. It reminds me of the Blackwood-Bracken feud."

"I suspect the Blackwood-Bracken feud occurred since the dawn of time," Lord Varys chuckled. "Much worse than the Florent-Tyrell feud do you not think?"

"Now that the matter of the Reach is sorted, can we return to Dorne?" inquired Jon. "I believe we were discussing Dorne earlier?"

"You say all Prince Doran wishes for is justice," said Stannis thoughtfully. "Wouldn't it save time and resources if we serve them justice? All we must do is send him the heads of those who murdered his sister and her children. I am confident my brother will agree to it readily my lord Hand."

"That may be the case Lord Baratheon," said Ser Kevan hesitantly, "but I do not think my own brother, Lord Tywin, will relinquish two of his most um, trusted men. It was…a war, Lord Baratheon. I understand Princes Doran and Oberyn's want for justice, but this is the beginning of a new era, Lord Baratheon. Your House is the new royal House – will His Grace arrest Sers Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch for killing some of the remaining members of the previous royal family?"

"I'd be careful if I were you," said Lord Stannis icily, glowering at Ser Kevan. "Though it was a war, you do not murder innocent women and children."

"Lord Baratheon is right," spoke Jon. "Ser Kevan, your brother will be obliged to hand Sers Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch over for them to pay for their crimes. It's indeed a new era with a new royal House, but those who have committed dreadful crimes in the previous year must still pay. They cannot escape justice. I will speak more about it with the king once he returns from his hunt."

"Lord Tywin will not be pleased," remarked Ser Kevan.

Jon frowned at him. The Lannisters thought too highly of themselves. Earlier he had considered a Lannister queen…the idea was less appealing now. "Lord Tywin is still one of the king's subjects," he said coldly. "When I leave for Dorne to broker a hopefully long lasting peace with Prince Doran, I will have the two criminals – or more like their heads – with me. We will talk no more about it Ser Kevan."

Varys coughed softly like a delicate flower. "My lord Hand… _you_ will go to Dorne? My lord, is that wise? Why not send a trusted man to negotiate with Prince Doran? You are needed here at King's Landing."

The Lord of the Eyrie arched an eyebrow. "I didn't know I'm needed so soon," he said with a the faintest traces of cynicism. "I'm certain the small council can continue to solve the realm's problems for a few weeks without me."

"When will you leave my lord?" Lord Stannis wanted to know.

"Soon," Jon replied. "I will send a raven to Prince Doran once this meeting is over and wait for his response. If he does not reply in a fortnight, I will set off to Dorne regardless of his wishes. Peace _will_ be achieved before the end of the month." He stood up. "Forgive me Ser Barristan, but the matter of the Kingsguard must wait. If you are still impatient, I suggest you speak directly to the king."

* * *

Though his head ached of politics and worry, Jon could not resist a smile as he caught sight of Catelyn bouncing little Robert on her knee. Though they had only moved in two days ago, they both settled in without a fuss. The curtains were plain and there were no suitable objects of entertainment for a young lady and an infant – both Catelyn and their son had not uttered a word of complaint. Jon was grateful. He desired to be a caring and good husband and father, but so far the Seven had other plans. First the deaths of all his direct Arryn heirs and now the position of the King's Hand. When would he have time to sit and chat with Catelyn and little Robert?

"How was the meeting?" Catelyn asked.

"Bickering without much of a final result," Jon answered. He stood awkwardly. Would he ruin the perfect scene of mother and son? Catelyn noticed almost at once and waved for him to sit down beside her. Wordlessly, she handed little Robert to him and beamed as their son cooed with pleasure at being held by his father.

"Lady Waynwood came by," Catelyn told him. "She said she had something to sort out at Ironoaks and as much as she wished to stay, she must leave. Lady Waynwood plans to depart with the Royces." She paused, slightly hesitant. "Pray continue," Jon said, smiling at her encouragingly. "Lady Waynwood invited me and Robert to be her guests for a few days at Ironoaks," Catelyn continued uncertainly. "I told her I must consider it. I thought it best to ask you first." She looked at him anxiously.

"Do you wish to go?" questioned Jon.

"Lady Waynwood had been so kind to me over the last few days…it would be rude if I decline her offer. Besides, she talked so much about her family that I desire to know her and her family more. There had always been a close relationship between our Houses – it is only fitting we know them better."

Jon nodded thoughtfully. His own late sister had wedded a Waynwood and birthed at least half a dozen Waynwood children. "I see no problem," he decided. "It might do both of you good to visit Ironoaks. It might even be time for the both of you to visit the Eyrie as well as meet my bannermen."

"Will you join us Jon?"

"I have duties here," said Jon apologetically. He wanted nothing more than to take his wife and child to the Eyrie and give them the grand tour of the Vale. If he was not Robert Baratheon's Hand, he would've whisked Catelyn and little Robert to the Vale the minute the war was over. The tiniest of unease wiggled in his gut. _All the past Lords of the Eyrie had been born in the Vale…_ He shook the ridiculous idea from his mind. No. His son little Robert would be the next Lord of the Eyrie after him. "There is a chance I will depart for Dorne in a few weeks," Jon went on. "The council decided that to negotiate a long peace with Dorne, we must go to Sunspear in person. I will be going myself once Prince Doran sends a reply hopefully soon."

"Oh. Do you wish me to accompany you?"

Jon shook his head. "A kind offer Catelyn, but Dorne is still dangerous territory at the moment. Prince Doran will not harm you, but other Dornishmen…no, it'll be safer if you remain here or perhaps travel to the Vale." It was his turn to hesitate. "Catelyn…are you absolutely certain you want to go to the Vale with Lady Waynwood?"

"Yes?"

Jon frowned a little. "I do not think little Robert is ready to participate in long trips to the Vale yet. He is healthy, yes, but travelling…he could catch a cold on the way." He did not want to add the looming danger of the mountain clans. They were skilled enough to abduct one of his Waynwood nieces. If they got their hands on the Arryn heir…

"Surely the fresh air will be better than the stench of King's Landing for our growing son," Catelyn pointed out. "If it is our safety you are concerned about, I will be in Nestor Royce _and_ Lady Waynwood's parties. They will have plenty of guards around them and I can always bring a squad of household guards with us."

"I will consider it," Jon said reluctantly. "When will the Royces leave?"

"In a day or two I believe."

"Indeed." Jon silently berated himself for his slowness. _He_ had appointed Lord Nestor Royce his High Steward of the Vale only yesterday! "I will inform you of my decision at suppertime," he promised. "Now tell me, how is our son?"

"A healthy babe," said Catelyn, brightening up immediately. "Quite clever too. When I was at Riverrun, I had sewed him many little stuffed animals – to help him remember all the Great Houses when he is older – and brought them with me. I showed them to little Robert today and the blue falcon caught his fancy instantly! He is a proud little Arryn is he not?" She beamed at little Robert who smiled back happily.

"Pride costs you everything," said Jon solemnly. "I hope little Robert will grow up and be a fair, just and honourable Lord of the Eyrie."

"He will." She patted little Robert on the head. Little Robert crowed with delight. He'd leant forward and reached out towards her, squirming in Jon's arms. Jon chuckled. "Our dear son misses his mother already." He carefully deposited him onto Catelyn's lap and watched as she gave him a beautifully stitched stuffed falcon. He touched one of its blue wings. The material was soft and comfortable; perfect for a babe to play with. It was also a light shade of blue, almost identical to the blue on the Arryn sigil. His lady wife's great skills with the needle was astonishing. The memory of his own old, patched stuffed bird tugged his mind. Oh it was eons ago…His mother had not sewn him a new one either. If his memory was accurate, he owned his grandfather's stuffed falcon.

"Your needlework is exquisite," Jon praised. "All that detail! I haven't met a lady with skills such as yours before Catelyn." Catelyn blushed prettily. He liked it when that flush of pink rose in her cheeks. It reminded him of dawn in the mornings – his favourite time of the day. Sweet, youthful dawn would herald the sun and announce the start of a fresh, new day. With it, dawn brought glimmers of hope – who would not appreciate a dose of hope after a night of gloom?

"Go to the Vale," he said, smiling at her. "Take little Robert with you. Write to me and I will write to you. We can swap tales of our ah, adventures in our letters. When peace is accomplished, I might be able to join you." Highly unlikely but Catelyn didn't need to be aware of that. "If not at Ironoaks, then at the Eyrie."

"I look forward to it." Surprise stabbed Jon as he caught sight of elation and joy in her bright blue eyes. The last time he saw that was in the eyes of Robert and Ned…all those years ago before that dreaded tourney at Harrenhal. _I will still love and care for them as much as I love and care for little Robert and Catelyn_ , he thought. _Even though Ned's now a father of his own, I will still think him one of mine sons, Robert being another._

"Ensure our son stays warm," Jon advised. "It can get a little chilly in the Vale."

"Even in spring?"

"Even in spring," Jon confirmed, "especially in the early mornings. I'll tell Lord Nestor to take good care of you and our son."

Catelyn smiled. "Thank you Jon. You take care too," she added shyly. "I don't want to learn of your death by poison."

Jon chuckled. "I assure you my dear, I will not die by poisoning. I am old, but I am still able to wield a sword to defend myself. After that war, I will not be cut down by poison." He huffed and shook his head. "Oh no, poison will not murder me yet." The spicy and hot Dornish food might. His tongue tingled at the thought of it. Even in his youth, spicy food had never agreed with him – what little peppery cuisine he had tried.

His stomach lurched in complaint as he unhappily realised that to further reinforce a long peace with Dorne (and to be a good guest), he would be obliged to eat the spicy, hot food the Dornish loved so much. With most of his teeth gone, it would be difficult to eat a slice of flatbread wrapped around peppers and meat.

"Will Prince Doran agree to peace?"

Jon nodded almost confidently. "Aye Catelyn." He stood up. "I must go and arrange all the papers for tomorrow's meeting," he said abruptly. "I will see you at supper, yes? If I finish my business early, I might come and see you again."

Catelyn nodded, slightly startled but still bearing a pleasant smile. "Little Robert will love to spend more time with you," she told him. "Now more than ever as you'll be going to Dorne…soon." Jon nodded and began to walk away, unable to decide whether to tend to unread letters first or the meeting notes the Grand Maester carefully written down in immaculate, tiny writing. As he headed to the door, he saw a servant hovering nearby, a letter in hand.

"Can I help you?" he asked. The boy held out the letter. "I have been asked to give this to Lady Arryn milord," he mumbled. Jon frowned and shrugged it aside. Catelyn must've had many friends in the Riverlands; perhaps that was another letter from Ser Edmure. It would be…the fifth that week he believed. "Lady Arryn is inside," he informed the young boy. "You may give it to her."

The boy bobbed his head and muttered, "Milord," before darting inside. Jon looked at him for the final time and uttered a quiet word of surprise as he recognised the sigil on the back of the letter.

That was not a sigil from the Riverlands…it was from the Vale.

* * *

 **I'm glad you enjoyed reading the Lysa chapter :) In the future, not all the Lysa chapters will be about her hating Jon Snow (the next few might though). Any ideas are welcome :D**


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